


Hold Tightly Until We Fall Back to Ground

by fiendingforthesunshine



Series: All Night (Or A Hundred Years) [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe, Bucky is also a teenager, Chill, Deaf Clint Barton, Flashbacks, Gen, Hallucinations, Kidnapping, M/M, Muteness, Non-Linear Narrative, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, Teenage Bucky Barnes, Teenaged Clint Barton, The slowest slow burn you've ever seen y'all, Torture, barely mentioned, kind of?, off-screen non-con, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 40,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiendingforthesunshine/pseuds/fiendingforthesunshine
Summary: The only thing they trained Clint to do was to be more careful. To spend more time in his own head where it was safer, quieter, easier to control. To accept that being enhanced was a mistake and better left in the shadows.--Psychic Abilities are accepted in the Western United States and damned in the East. Clint was lucky until one day he wasn't.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Series: All Night (Or A Hundred Years) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750651
Comments: 87
Kudos: 195





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Figured since we're all in quarantine I'd post what I've been working on since the last time I showed my face here three years ago. Enjoy. Tags to be added as they become relevant.

_“I know where you are, this is too easy!” the blond boy groaned, his eyes closed tight but a huge smile on his face._

_“No you don’t!” his friend shouted back._

_“Stop cheating!” another one howled._

_He sighed, “It’s not cheating, I can’t help it!”_

_Well… he could help it, but they didn’t need to know that._

_His eyes were closed but his mind was flying, reaching out into the unknown and picking up snippets of information from the thoughts of the other boys around him. He spun on his toes in the loose dirt to let more thoughts into his own. Throwing his attention out further past his own awareness._

_One was hiding behind his dad’s truck, a second behind the defunct motorcycle that has been on his brother’s to-do list for months and another hiding up in the juniper tree (that was a good spot)._

_On top of knowing where all the kids were hiding he could hear what they were thinking. Casual easy thoughts about dinner and the next chapter of the book they would be headed home to. Amorphous feelings that he couldn’t place but held an overwhelmingly positive echo back into his own mind._

_“I told you, I shouldn’t be the seeker, you’ll never win,” he laughed._

_One of the boys, the one behind the motorcycle, cursed, “We should’ve played something else.”_

_“We could’ve played soccer, I can’t cheat at that game,” he offered._

_“Except you squeal like a little girl every time the ball comes near your face even though you could definitely stop it,” the one hiding up the tree cackled._

_The seeker opened his eyes and stared through the branches of the tree and caught just a wisp of friendly affection floating from the kid hiding there before he broke out into a run in the opposite direction towards the motorcycle._

_“Ready or not, here I come!”_

\--

Clint’s lips were dry. That was the first thing he noticed when he came back to himself. 

The second thing he noticed was that he probably should’ve been paying attention to the people in his immediate surroundings before now. There were a lot of them. They weren’t necessarily any louder than usual but Clint could feel there was something different and different was pretty much always bad these days. 

Clint was seated, his arms handcuffed securely behind his back and then lashed to the chair with a thick rope. The muzzle covering Clint’s mouth and nose was just loose enough that he could breathe easier than usual when it was on. 

Must’ve been a newbie who put it on. 

“Yoohoo? Anybody home?” Someone rapped their knuckles against Clint’s temple. Only one guard ever did that, Rumlow. Clint withheld a soundless sigh. 

“Don’t touch him!” Someone barked from across the room. Clint didn’t turn his head to see who spoke, didn’t need to, it was the trainer. He was always on edge, nothing new there.

The man standing above Clint scoffed, “Kids tied up six ways to Sunday, what’s he gonna do?” 

He then bent down and balanced his forearms on his thighs, coming into Clint’s view. Clint stared at a point just over Rumlow’s shoulder and thought about how nice it would be to headbutt Rumlow.

“Lay off it, Rumlow. Weren’t you on vacation when he strangled the last doc a couple months ago? Fuckin’ insane.” 

Rumlow barked a laugh and stood up, tightening the strap on the muzzle before he left to stand guard at the door behind Clint. 

The back and forth lasted another few minutes, with Clint drifting in and out of the conversation happening above his head until the door opened. The room went silent and if Clint hadn’t been paying attention, he would’ve started as soon as he heard those dress shoe heels on the concrete. 

Pierce. 

Guess that’s why the room was buzzing. 

Pierce crossed the room in a few long strides and knelt down in front of Clint, waiting for him to look up. Pierce was big on eye contact. 

Once Clint had looked at him for the amount of time Pierce deemed appropriate he reached up behind Clint’s neck. 

Months of “training”, months of torture, is the only reason Clint didn’t flinch at the sudden movement. He knew better now.

“Undersecretary Pierce… Sir. If I may, I wouldn’t take the muzzle off. Last time--” 

Pierce continued, loosening the strap and unclasping the hooks that held the muzzle in place, “Last time, “ he started, “A doctor with impulse control, a wandering hand and a stunning level of idiocy was in the room.” Pierce turned his head to look at the trainer while he pulled the muzzle from Clint’s face, “That isn’t the case today, is it?” 

The trainer’s face slowly turned red, his eyes flicking back and forth from Pierce to Rumlow, who’d been tooling with Clint, “No, sir. Undersecretary, sir.” 

Pierce put his hand on Clint’s shoulder after the muzzle dropped to the ground, his fingers digging into his collar bone, a warning, “We’ll behave today, won’t we?” 

Clint’s eyes flashed to the controller in Pierce’s hand as seconds later light sparked through Clint’s brain. He squeezed his eyes tight as the sound in the room doubled, each person given a second voice and the structure of the building became clearer. 

Pierce ran his hand along the nape of Clint’s neck, running his fingertips over the core wires and artificial neurons fused to Clint’s cervical spine while Clint bit his tongue. 

The trainer’s fear was now exceptionally loud, his wordless concern banging around inside Clint’s skull. Clint did his best to clear his mind and find solace but Pierce spoke again, inches away from Clint’s left ear, “I asked you a question.” 

Clint opened his eyes a sliver and dug back through his memories and came up empty, his short-term memory was always shit. After coming up empty Clint reached out to find the question in the trainer’s mind. 

The trainer wasn’t a psy, but he’d been around long enough that he twitched when Clint slid in, sorting roughly through his thoughts to find the question he needed to answer. 

_Just behave, just behave, please. I need to keep this job, please._

Clint coughed down into his lap to clear his throat, pulling on his restrained arms and nodded, “I’ll behave, sir.” 

Pierce’s smile was wide and severe, “Excellent. Untie him, agents” he snapped his fingers at the agents by the door and stood up to give them space. 

Clint did his best to ignore the barrage of outside thoughts while Rumlow’s fingers brushed against his skin to unwind the rope. Pierce, as usual, was an empty slate. It was infuriating. On a good day Clint could hear the thoughts of someone literally miles away, but he could never hear Pierce. He was a wildcard, an unknown player. 

Although to be fair, Pierce couldn’t hear Clint.

Clint stayed seated once they’d untied him and Pierce hummed in satisfaction, “Do you know how long you’ve been here, in this training center?” 

Training center. What a load of crap. The only thing they trained Clint to do was to be more careful. To spend more time in his own head where it was safer, quieter, easier to control. To accept that being enhanced was a mistake and better left in the shadows. Clint shook his head, “No, sir.” 

“It’s been well over a year, we can normally train our psys into obedience in under six months. But here you are.” 

An entire year of this godforsaken place. Clint didn’t remember much of it, to be honest, spent so much of it trying to block everything out anyway that just a year felt like a blessing. Only one fall, one winter, one spring and one summer.

“One benefit of having you here for so long is that I know I can trust you now,” Pierce continued. 

The trainer’s anxiety spiked, a loud klaxon in Clint’s head. 

“You know what happens if you break that trust.” 

Clint felt like he was swimming through mud trying to push out the thoughts and feelings of the trainer and the guards. But, oh, yes. Clint knows exactly what happens if he breaks Pierce’s trust.

Pierce stepped back into Clint’s space and held his jaw in a vice grip, “What I am about to do is not a reward. It is a necessity. Stand up.” 

The undersecretary let go and Clint’s knees clicked as he stood up, his muscles tight from disuse. 

Pierce gave a slight wave of the controller in his hand, the bane of Clint’s existence. He hadn’t pressed any buttons but Clint could practically feel the network warming back up. “Things have changed recently and I need your abilities more readily accessible. The latest update to your neural network included a tracker as there will be times that you are not under my supervision.” 

Clint was getting out? He couldn’t dare let himself think that freedom, even freedom with a tight leash, was possible.

Clint’s mind began to wander, out as far as he could go without putting forth serious effort. Imagining having a place to go to, a home outside of the walls of what his world had been reduced to. 

He almost didn’t feel the spark of pain when Undersecretary Piece turned the network back on and Clint’s thoughts were, once again, the only thoughts he could hear. 

\--

_Even though he had definitely been found, the boy with the perfectly coiffed brown hair up in the juniper tree refused to get down, his laugh carrying through the branches while the others tried to climb up the trunk to reach him._

_He briefly locked eyes with his psychic friend, “If you break this branch I’ll break your arm.”_

_“Oh come on, Bucky. I would never do that!” the blond was grinning but his eyes betrayed him._

_“Clint, I’m serious.”_

_The branch began to creak._

_“I’m gonna tell your mom you were using your powers again!” Bucky tried, moving closer to the trunk and sliding around to stand on a thicker branch on the other side._

_Clint held up his hands in a play of surrender as the branch his friend had just left fell to the ground, “I think it broke because you’re too old to be climbing trees, I didn’t do it.”_

_“Ok, ok. I’m coming down! Can we play something else now?”_

_“My mom said the internet would be free after dinner, I got a new game?” One of the boys offered._

_The rest of the boys broke out into a run towards the neighborhood. Clint waited under the tree as Bucky climbed down._

_“What game did he get?” Bucky asked as he brushed leaves off his shirt._

_“You can’t yell at me for using my powers and then ask me to use my powers. Also they're not called powers, asshole.”_

_Bucky snickered and then started jogging in place, “You would tell me if it wasn’t a good one, better hope you’re not last!” he then pushed Clint over and began sprinting down the path their friends had taken._


	2. Chapter 2

_“Ma, are Bucky and his grandma coming this summer?” Clint asked, pulling another weed out at its base. He and his mom had been at it for at least an hour, cleaning up the garden to give their vegetables a shot at a good harvest. They’d timed the planting just right in the valley this year._

_His mom was on the other side of the garden, putting in the late spring seeds, she leaned up and sat back on her heels, “Probably not this year, Clint.”_

_Clint blinked and bit his tongue to keep himself from just reading her mind for the answer. He’d been trying to be more “respectful” of people’s space these days, according to his mom and his teachers he was too old to be pretending he couldn’t stop himself. They’d even given him an anchor to practice with, a woven piece of fabric that wrapped evenly around his palm and down his forearm. They said it was supposed to provide Clint with a buffer, a way to tamp down on the fact that Clint could hear everyone even when he wasn’t trying to listen._

_She’d know the second he tried to get in, anyway. Better just to ask, “They didn’t come last year either, why not?”_

_“It’s not safe to cross the border these days.”_

_Clint thought back to the past few nights, watching his mom and dad from the hallway floor while the people on the news talked about things well beyond Clint’s comprehension or interest. Clint could feel the anxiety radiating off his dad, picking up words that Clint had only heard in history books._

_“I thought the war was a long time ago?” Clint asked, “Why would we need to worry about the border?”_

_His mom sighed, “This isn’t about the war.”_

_Clint sat down in the dirt and pulled out another weed, “Then what’s it about?”_

_“I know you were in the hallway last night listening to the news, and you know your dad can reign in his emotions about as well as he can tend to the garden.”_

_Clint coughed out a laugh and nodded, “They were talking about how the government out East tracks people who leave. How they end up tracking people over here because of it too. Dad was scared that they’ve been doing this longer than what the news says for.”_

_“Right, you remember that Bucky’s grandma is enhanced, don’t you?”_

_Clint nodded again, “She’s why we started the seeds inside this year, she knew how the weather would be.”_

_“Being a psy out East… it’s dangerous, honey.”_

\--

Steve doesn’t regret getting arrested. 

It was worth it to defend the kid outside the store, he was just trying to get enough food to feed his little sister.

It was even more worth it to see the look on that jackboot thug’s face when Steve threw the first punch. 

Jail sucked but Steve had been here before, at least once a year since he’d been left on his own as a teenager. Now at 25, well... Steve knows the system intimately. 

Steve had tried to behave himself, really. He’d tried to just keep his head down and ignore the cries for help the way Natasha begged him to. Tried to accept that not everything had to be a fight, and especially not everything had to be his fight. Natasha’s words exactly. 

Anyway, it wasn’t anything Steve couldn’t handle. The scare tactics, the black sack over his head anytime they took him out of his cell, the truncheons intermittently clanging against the metal bars, none of that really bothered Steve. 

Steve knew he was right, that was all that mattered. Natasha, despite her protestations, had to know that. 

This time they had come in while he was sleeping, screaming and pulling him from his cot. Throwing the sack over his head before he could even get a good breath in and dragging him down the hallway. 

They’d taken Steve out of his cell multiple times. He was technically arrested for accessory to a theft, that’s what the cop had said at his sham court hearing, but any information they could get, they would get. Once Steve was arrested they had free reign.

Steve stumbled over his own feet as they pulled him along the corridor. Steve hadn’t bothered to memorize the paths, they changed up their directions each time. After a minute or two they reached their destination. Steve let them shove him into a chair and handcuff him to the metal arm rest before they pulled the bag off over his head. 

The door slammed shut and Steve was left alone in his thoughts staring at the wall. 

Steve tried not to make an effort to keep track of time but the door opened violently when he was 3,472 seconds into his wait. 

An older man, well dressed with more salt than pepper hair, took a few long strides across the room to stand in front of Steve while someone, a kid no older than 16, stood in his shadow a few steps back. 

Steve waited. 

“Steven Grant Rogers.” The man’s voice was strong, likely military, but not yelling. Not yet. 

“You got it,” Steve mumbled, wishing he could use his hands to scratch his face. He settled for rubbing it on his shoulder while they continued to sit in silence.

“Arrested for accessory to a theft, and assault of an officer of the law… and you’ve already got quite a backlog of criminal offenses.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, “Hey, could you call the guards back? I’m really not interested in going over my criminal record again, thanks.” 

The kid then looked up, briefly. A look of… confusion maybe? Or concern. He quickly dropped his head back down to stare at his feet. 

The man grinned, wide and what Steve would’ve considered sincere if they weren’t in a prison and Steve wasn’t handcuffed to a chair. And if that kid wasn’t standing in the corner like he was already in trouble. 

“My name is Undersecretary Alexander Pierce, much of my job involves the sale and acquisition of the enhanced for government use. I have a proposition for you.” 

Of course this guy had the kind of job that involves buying and selling people. Of course. 

He continued, “This is Clint, a telepath and energy manipulator. I’ve put forth a lot of effort towards his training over the past year.” 

The kid, Clint, was still in the shadows but Steve finally let his eyes wander past the man for longer than a few moments. He didn’t look like much, scrappy like Steve was all through his earlier youth. Hair buzzed short, generic sneakers, loose fitting pants and a long sleeved shirt. Steve could also see faint black lines weaving their way along his temples and across his neck. 

Steve had never met an enhanced person with a neural network, holy shit. 

“It no longer benefits me to have him imprisoned in the traditional sense. You getting arrested, although you hardly seem able to avoid it these days, was perfect timing.” 

Steve bristled, “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Keeping him on an army base presents an unpredictable and unnecessary security risk. Keeping him with a civilian, however, presents a unique chance to see just how well our training has worked.” 

“You want me to babysit someone who the government deems a danger to society?” Steve cleared his throat, “You want me, a criminal by your own words, to keep an eye on a kid who can read minds and… and, what? Energy manipulation? What even is that?” 

Pierce almost looked annoyed, “You’ve noticed the neural network, do you know it’s purpose?”

Steve huffed and shook his head. 

“To a varying degree it keeps the enhanced individual from using their abilities unless someone with control over the network turns it off. I am the only one with control. The only risk you run, “ for the first time Pierce looked back at the kid, pinning him with a sharp stare, “Is him biting you, though he’s recently been broken of that bad habit.” 

Steve didn’t even want to imagine what was involved in breaking that habit. 

“The neural network keeps him from using any of his powers unless under my direct command as well as from speaking unless under my direct command. The government will compensate you for his care the amount that would be spent if he was still at his training center.”

“Can’t be that much,” Steve scoffed. 

Pierce didn’t bite, hah. 

“What if he runs away? Or if I run and I take him with me?” 

Pierce nodded, mostly to himself, “The network was recently fitted with a tracking chip that can incapacitate him in less than two seconds after being activated.”

Steve’s eyes flicked over to the boy, to Clint. He was still staring at his shoes but this comment caused his point of focus to shift over to Pierce’s nice, unscuffed black dress shoes. His hands had been held loosely at his side but he squeezed his right hand into a fist before immediately uncurling it, so quick Steve almost didn’t notice. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say the kid looked mad. 

“And if I say no?” 

Pierce glanced down at his hands, examining his fingers for traces of dirt that couldn’t possibly be there. Guy had never gotten his hands dirty in his life, Steve would bet a whole month’s pay on that. 

“Your wife, Natasha?” 

Steve did his best to control his temper. 

“She went to a doctor in your neighborhood two days ago, discovered that she was pregnant,” Undersecretary Pierce glanced at his watch and back at Steve with a bored look, “I imagine it would be difficult for her to raise a child without her husband around.” 

Steve looked at the kid one last time, anything’s gotta be better than prison for him, right?

“Is there anything I have to sign?” 

Natasha was going to kill him. 

\--

_“Couldn’t they just… act like they were coming to visit and then not go back?” Clint offered, pulling at a particularly stubborn weed close to some early sprouting carrot greens._

_“When was the last time lying to me worked out well for you?”_

_Clint pretended to ponder this thought deeply, “Uh… never?”_

_“Right. So what makes you think lying to the border guards would work?”_

_Clint sighed and dramatically fell over onto his back in the dirt. The early morning sun shone bright on his face and he closed his eyes, toying with the fabric on his forearm._

_She sighed and sat down in the dirt next to her youngest son, “I’m sorry, baby. Maybe next summer, okay? Now, get up. Your teacher wants you over before lunch.”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doing a bit of world building here. Wanted a bit of a timeline to help everyone (me included). 
> 
> Psychic abilities started to appear in some children in many locations around the world starting in the 1830s.  
> The US Civil War in the early 1860s happened as usual. Enhanced children, who were now adults and having children of their own, fought on both sides of the war.  
> The outcome of the civil war was the same and all 50 US states that exist in our world exist in this one, boarders are all the same.  
> Starting in the early 1900s the west became a beacon for former slaves and enhanced people looking to live lives unburdened by a government that was becoming more overbearing.  
> A second civil war was fought in the late 1980s, ending with a hard boarder between the west and east, with everything west of Missouri becoming the West United States and everything east, east. 
> 
> Just imagine it as if the US was very very late to communism/authoritarianism and had that fight much later that everywhere else LOL 
> 
> Clint is a variety of ages in the flashbacks, is around 17 in the current time. It's the early 2010s in the story. Steve and Natasha are both 25.

_It was a perfect summer evening. Barney had finally given in and driven Clint and a few of his friends out to Parajito Mountain once they were done with their chores. The ski lifts were still running, but mostly to take cyclists and hikers up to the top._

_The mountain ran all year, skiers and snowboarders in the winter, mountain bikers and hikers in the summer and fall. It was only about half an hour on a good day to get out there and someone from the neighborhood was always available and willing to take someone out if they wanted to go, especially when the weather was nice._

_Barney had parked at the base, near the ski resort and instead of taking the lift up they walked along a carved out path through the trees._

_It had been blazing hot since midmorning but as soon as the sun started to go down behind the mountain range it immediately cooled off and Clint was almost wishing that he’d brought more than the plaid button up he’d tossed in the backseat when they got in the car._

_Their parents were happy to get them out of their hair, if only for a few hours. Most of the kids in town were off for summer break which meant too many of them were constantly looking for something to do which always meant trouble._

_Clint was still going to class twice a week with one of his teachers, who was also telepathic and once a week with another teacher who’d started working with Clint on his energy skills, mostly creating effect force fields and using his psychic energy more effectively than just toying with the other kids._

_The classes were fine but Clint missed spending summers doing whatever he wanted, and he missed summers with Bucky._

_Bucky and his grandma had been coming to Los Alamos every summer for as long as Clint could remember. They lived in New York City, out East. They’d fly north to Canada and then from Canada to Albuquerque where Clint and his dad would usually drive down and pick them up. Sometimes they could get direct flights from New York to the West but that always depended on how the governments felt about each other that year._

_Clint’s mom was from the East… well, the East before it was the East. Before the Psychic Civil War the United States was just that, United. Besides, they’d already fought a civil war a hundred years before that over slavery, no one really expected them to fight a war over Enhanced people._

_When people with psychic powers started appearing around the world in the mid 1800s everyone just let it be, for the most part. Some places were better and some were worse, like everything else._

_When Clint’s mom was little her parents noticed that she was telekinetic and from the story he’s heard they were pretty happy, but the tide of public opinion was already starting to turn against people like her._

_They left for the southwest, places like New Mexico and Arizona, that would stay out of your business, two years before the war broke out._

_Bucky’s grandma was Clint’s mom’s neighbor (try saying that one three times fast) who told them to get out while they still could and Clint’s family kept up the friendship through the war and up through now. The summer visits were just as important to Clint as they were to the rest of his family._

_They’d never missed a summer until last year._

_“Hey, you ok?” it was Barney, poking Clint in the side as they drifted behind the rest of the kids._

_Clint nodded and shoved his shoulder into Barney to try and knock him off balance, “Yeah, just wondering if Sammie would survive a mountain bike run from anything other than the bunny slope.” he said it loud enough for the other kids to hear._

\--

Clint’s head was pounding.

Pierce had turned the network back on before having Rumlow march him down the corridors and into a van where they handcuffed him and, thankfully, didn’t muzzle him. Pierce was in the van and Clint wouldn’t act up as long as he was in view. 

The drive was a blur, Clint spent most of the time in his own head, in memories or in thoughtless solitude. Clint was still surprised that it was even possible to shut off his enhancements with a push of a button. It was his anchor on steroids and still not anywhere near the same. 

Clint’s anchor was a place of focus, the network was a place of forced isolation. 

Clint had stopped trying to track time, had no idea how long they spent in the van. He only just barely paid attention when Rumlow manhandled him out of the van and into what looked to be another prison. 

He switched his focus when Pierce started to speak and Clint first noticed the man he was talking to. 

Pierce was… cutting him a deal? 

The man was a criminal, although it wasn’t like Clint could talk at this point he might as well be too. 

He was a criminal and Pierce was going to trust him? 

“What if he runs away? Or if I run and I take him with me?” That was a fair question. Clint had never been a runner, always more interested in fighting back but the man didn’t know that about him yet. 

Pierce responded, “The network was recently fitted with a tracking chip that can incapacitate him in less than two seconds after being activated.”

Clint didn’t know that. 

The last time he went under was… well… right after he strangled that piece of shit doctor while Rumlow was on vacation and Pierce had been gone. Pierce had been gone and while Clint had decided to behave for him, he hadn’t decided to behave for that doctor. 

Pierce wouldn’t lie about the tracker, is that why he had told Clint this was a necessity and not a reward? 

If Pierce could keep track of him without having to keep him under his thumb, and without running the risk of his own men getting hurt, the tracker would be the way to do it. 

Clint was still thinking about it when Rumlow dragged him back to the van and tossed him into the backseat next to the criminal.

The man was fidgeting. They hadn’t handcuffed them, the threat of the tracker had been enough and now that he didn’t have his hands locked up he was drumming them on his leg and looking around as they drove out of the prison. 

The drive was silent until Steve started talking. Clint had been put in on the left side of the van which meant he couldn’t hear him talking without turning his head, the hearing in his right ear was garbage, another gift from Undersecretary Pierce. 

Steve continued, “It’s me and my wife in our apartment. It’ll be a little tight but it's better than that prison I imagine.”

Clint was listening, his eyes flicked over to stare, just past Steve’s arm and out the window behind him as he talked, “We have running water that’s usually warm and my wife, Natasha, she’s pretty decent at cooking.”

“We can pull together some new clothes, maybe a jacket? Can’t believe those assholes couldn’t even be bothered to give you the right clothes for the weather.”

It had been winter when they took him from his home. And Pierce said it had only been a year. Clint hadn’t gotten a taste for what the temperature was in the brief time they had between the jail and the van but he did notice there was a bit of a chill working its way through his shirt and settling into his skin. 

Clint was used to the cold, if he was home there’d probably be at least a foot of snow on the ground by now but as the empty highway made way for more dense ramshackled housing and storefronts Clint couldn’t see any sign of snow. 

They eventually pulled up in front of an apartment building taller than most of the buildings in Los Alamos. They had to wait for Rumlow to unlock the car and once Steve got out Clint slowly worked his way out behind him. 

Steve was already headed up towards the front door when Rumlow grabbed Clint’s forearm roughly and put his face right next to Clint’s good ear, “Better behave yourself, eh kid?” 

Steve spun around on his heel, “Hey! Your boss said he’s with me now, right?” 

Rumlow shot a look his way and slowly removed his grip on Clint, “Sure… He’s with you.” He pushed Clint towards Steve, “Good luck with that.” 

\--

_“Hey, Barney?”_

_Barney turned for a quick look at Clint as he drove down the mountain. They’d stayed out well past sundown but that wasn’t too uncommon._

_“Yeah?”_

_“Did Mom ever take you out East?”_

_Barney spared a look at the back seat of the car, Clint was sitting in the front passenger seat and their friends were piled in the backseat, “Don’t worry,” Clint responded, “They’re all asleep.”_

_Barney nodded and put his eyes back on the road._

_“Yeah, she did. When I was pretty little a few times, I don’t remember much. She took me again when you were about one years old. We stayed with Ms. Barnes, Bucky was just a baby, younger than you.”_

_Clint pushed a little into Barney’s thoughts. He was right when he said he didn’t remember much. Everything was blurry and fuzzy on the edges, faces unclear._

_“Hey!” Barney mumbled, taking his hand off the steering wheel to push Clint’s shoulder, “I’m gonna tell mom!”_

_Clint laughed, “I just wanted to make sure!”_

_Barney gave him one more pinch on the back of his arm for good measure before letting up._

_“Why would mom go back? I mean, it couldn’t have been safe for her or you.”_

_The car lapsed into silence and Barney shrugged, “For the same reason Bucky and Ms. Barnes go back every fall. It’s home,” Barney sighed, “Besides, it felt pretty safe at the time. The war was over before either of us were even born, the borders were open and everyone was happy to see anyone, didn’t matter who. Maybe they all thought that one day everyone would just get over it and it would go back to how it used to be.”_


	4. Chapter 4

_Clint stopped in the street a few houses down from his own causing Barney, who’d been walking him home from school, to crash right into him and immediately start complaining._

_“What’s the matter with you?”_

_Clint stared at their front yard, ignoring his brother. Someone was in their house. People from around the area were always visiting, their dad was a doctor it was part of the job, but this person wasn’t from around here. Wasn’t hurt or sick. Clint ran his fingers along the fabric of his anchor to try and reach further._

_Clint was still deep in thought when Barney pushed past him, “I said, what’s the matter with you?”_

_“There’s someone in the house,” Clint finally said, jogging to catch back up with Barney, “Someone we’ve never met.”_

_Barney scoffed, “That happens, like, twice a week. At least.”_

_Barney stopped and turned around to give Clint a hard stare, “Ok. Alright. Do they… do they feel bad?”_

_He could never get the language right. Didn’t understand that it had nothing to do with feelings, at least not with Clint, and everything to do with what he heard and saw._

_“No. I just can’t figure out why they’re here.”_

_“Well,” Barney came behind Clint and put his hands on his shoulders and began pushing him toward the house, “There’s a way to find out that doesn’t involve reading people’s minds,”_

_Barney poked and prodded Clint up to their house, finally loosening Clint up to laugh at his older brother and push back as they walked closer._

_“Mom? Dad?” Barney called, bounding up the walkway to the front door and pulling it open. Clint followed close behind._

_“We’re in the kitchen!” their dad called from the back of the house._

_Now that Clint was closer he could make out the voices of his parents and the stranger in his kitchen, and he could finally dissect their thoughts too. Clint toed off his shoes and dropped his backpack on the floor as he tried to listen without getting accused of snooping._

Los Alamos is safe, we have two tier three telepaths in town, we would know if something was coming. They’d tell us. 

_His Dad. Clint’s dad wasn’t a psy, neither was Barney. But they’d developed a few skills. Their Dad was especially good at holding one conversation out loud and another conversation with his thoughts._

They thought they were safe in Sacramento and Portland too, and now look what’s happening. 

_His Mom. She felt upset, her energy was all stirred up and pointy. Clint walked towards the kitchen and stood awkwardly in the doorframe, now he could finally see the stranger._

_They were talking but when Clint came through the doorway they stopped and smiled, but they let Clint’s parents take the lead._

_“Hi, Clint. How was school?”_

_Clint tried to fight the urge to cross his arms, “It’s fine. I got a B on my history test and Sammie Gomez got hit in the face with a dodgeball during PE. Who’s that?”_

_His dad started pointedly at his mom and his mom sighed, “This is Maria Hill. She lives in Portland, she came down for a visit so be nice.”_

_“Mom.”_

What’s going on? 

_“Enhanced kids are getting kidnapped,” Maria said out loud._

_Clint whipped his head around to look at her. Dark short hair like Clint’s mom, tall and skinny like his dad. A face more severe and thoughtful than either of them put together, maybe more like the librarian at the city library who was always on Clint’s case about being too loud._

_She was dressed more for fall in Portland than late summer in Los Alamos and Clint finally noticed what his parents were probably hoping he wouldn’t._

_Maria Hill had a neural network. Or at least the traces of one. Faint black lines, almost like tattoos, spread out from behind her hairline and weaved across the skin at her forehead and temples._

_Clint had heard about them a few years ago, mostly by accident. Bucky and his grandma had been in for the summer and one night while they were sneaking around the sparse woods behind the neighborhood Bucky decided that was a good time to share scary stories._

_“If they don’t like your powers they can take you away where no one will ever find you and when you come back your powers are gone.”_

_Clint scoffed, kicking a pile of leaves over, “First, they’re not powers. Second, no way. You can’t do that. Wouldn’t they have taken your grandma? I mean, she’s clairvoyant, that’s a way bigger deal than someone who can... I dunno, talk to cats.”_

_Bucky had continued. Saying someone in his neighborhood disappeared and came back with something they called a ‘network’. A layer of synthetic neurons that suppressed their abilities._

_Clint always figured that it was real, Bucky didn’t often lie, but why would someone be out here where psys could live however they wanted and have the remains of a network._

_“You’re from the east,” Clint deadpanned._

_Maria nodded, “I was. Your mom and I lived across the street from each other. I moved to Portland after the war. I came here to warn your parents about something they should’ve seen coming before now,” she turned and looked at his parents._

_“Maria, he’s too young,” his dad tried._

_“He’s not, he should and deserves to know what’s coming,” Maria stood up from the table and waved her hand at Clint, “C’mon, Clint. Let’s go talk.”_

_Clint stood, frozen in the doorway until his mom and dad both nodded. He ran back and grabbed his shoes from the front door and followed Maria._

\--

Clint watched Rumlow as he got back into the van. Once he had started it up and began driving down the street, turning left where they had turned right and disappearing into the city Steve sighed, “That guy is a real piece of work, huh?” 

Clint nodded and Steve huffed out a laugh, “Right. We live on the fifth floor, let’s go up and introduce you.” 

Steve headed for the door of the building with Clint following close behind. It was nighttime but people were still walking up and down the sidewalks, shouting at each other from car windows and apartment windows. Steve stopped to say hello briefly to a few men sitting on the stoop of the building and Clint worked on avoiding any and all direct eye contact. 

They trudged up the stairs in silence. 

When they reached the door Steve stopped and turned around, “Ok, I mentioned Natasha, right?” he didn’t wait for Clint to nod, “I’m going to talk to her first, she’s… she’s probably pretty upset with me about stuff that has nothing to do with you.” Steve looked around the empty hallway, “Just stay right here, alright? I’ll come back and get you.” 

Steve knocked on the door and slid in through the crack as soon as it was opened, slamming it shut behind himself. 

Clint didn’t bother trying to eavesdrop once he heard the other voice behind the closed door. Instead he sat down with his legs criss-crossed with his back against the wall. 

The street outside was so busy it was surprising how quiet the building inside was. A few people walked past him and he could occasionally hear loud footsteps on the floors below but all the noise was outside.

Clint tried to ignore the ache in his chest and how much he missed being able to reach out into the vast nothing and find people, find their feelings and their thoughts. How did regular people do this? At least in the training center Clint hardly heard or saw anything that Pierce or the trainers didn’t want him to see or hear. 

The conversation behind the door ebbed and flowed, getting louder sometimes and other times sounding like it had ended altogether, or that they had moved further into the apartment. Clint drifted, searching and sorting through his own memories to provide extra input given how quiet the hallway was.

Clint almost didn’t notice the door opening and feet coming into his peripheral vision. 

He didn’t look up.

It wasn’t Steve, Steve had way bigger feet. It must be his wife, the one he mentioned, Natasha. She was wearing fuzzy dark blue socks tucked into a pair of grey joggers. It was only then Clint wondered what time it even was, maybe she had been asleep before they showed up. 

“It’s Clint, right?” She asked. 

Clint nodded. 

Clint could practically see her sigh, it went through her whole body. She crouched down to see criss-cross on the other side of the hallway from Clint, she was just short enough sitting down that Clint couldn’t avoid catching her eyes. 

“I’m Natasha, Steve and I got married four months ago and then his dumbass had to go and get arrested last week,” she said fondly, like Steve being trouble was one of the reasons she married him in the first place. She continued, “He’s got a bad habit of picking up strays as well.” 

Natasha held such an intense gaze, the way Pierce did but Clint didn’t feel the same threatening expectation. She couldn’t be that much older than Barney, and Steve couldn’t be much older than her. Clint tried to imagine Barney married and in another life probably would’ve fallen to the floor laughing in disbelief that anyone his age could pass for an adult.

Natasha continued staring, “I can’t believe they’d put a network on a kid,” she whispered, then, a little louder, “I don’t know many psys, but I know what they do to people like you in those training centers. We can’t do much about that, but there are some things we can fix. Have you eaten today?” 

Clint couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Obviously meals must happen because he’s still alive but none of them had been memorable. There were a few things Pierce didn’t play with and thankfully one of them had been food. 

Clint shrugged. 

“Well, it can’t hurt to eat something now. Come inside.”

Steve had been standing in the doorway the whole time, watching their exchange, Clint hadn’t noticed until he stood up and Steve backed up back into the apartment to give them space. 

The apartment was small, Steve had been telling the truth. The living room consisted of a small couch shoved in the corner with a mismatched rug tucked under an even smaller coffee table. The kitchen was essentially in the living room, only six feet away at most. A sink, an oven and a stovetop and a small fridge tucked in next to all of it. A short hall led to what Clint imagined would be a bathroom and a bedroom. 

Natasha looked hard into the fridge, “I haven’t been able to go to the store this week but I still have some soup that a neighbor dropped off yesterday after the rumor mill got going that I visited the midwife.” 

Clint caught her smile, and Steve’s as well. 

“I think there should be bread in the freezer too, I could heat that up.” 

“Let me help, Nat,” Steve reached over her for the freezer and ignored her complaint. Clint stood pressed up against the front door to avoid getting in the way while they worked around each other. 

Once the food was ready Natasha set three bowls on the coffee table, “Steve, take the floor. Clint, come sit down.” 

Clint slowly slid the few feet to the couch, ducking his head when he sat down. He should say thank you, but he can’t. The ever present burn from the network a reminder that he can’t say anything to her, or Steve, for taking him in like this. They don’t know the first thing about him and him being there is only just a compromise so Steve could come back home, not because anyone actually cared. 

“Eat, Clint. The old lady who made this soup will come back while you’re sleeping and string you up by your toes if you don’t eat it.” 

“Natasha!” Steve bemoaned loudly.

Clint smiled down at his lap and reached out for the bowl in front of him. 

“Hey, at least it worked!” Natasha gloated.   
\--

_“You know my mom?” Clint asked once they cleared the front yard and started walking towards downtown._

_Maria nodded, “Not very well, we were pretty young when she left but everyone knew her parents had taken her out here, some people wanted to follow.”_

_“You did, you live in Portland now.”_

_“Yeah, a little too late though.” She laughed._

_Clint kicked a rock down the sidewalk and jogged to catch up to where it stopped to kick it again and waited for Maria to catch up, “What are you warning my parents about? I mean, you said kidnapping, but…” Clint trailed off._

_“You’re a tier one telepath, you tell me.”_

_“Mom says it's rude to just read people’s minds, I’m trying to be nice,” Clint was mostly joking._

_“Last week in Portland two different families were all murdered in their homes except their enhanced teenage children. Missing without any trace for the police to follow. Two weeks before that, in Sacramento, the same thing happened to three other families.”_

_Maria snuck her foot out and kicked the rock Clint had been toying with and Clint reacted, sticking his foot out to stop it from going into the road, “All of the families had close ties to the east and we can’t know for sure but it’s possible the kids were kidnapped. I took some vacation time to come down here and warn your parents to keep an eye out.”_

_She kicked the rock into the road and this time Clint let her._

_“You think we’re next.” Clint didn’t ask._

_Maria sighed, “I think you need to keep both eyes open.”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're starting to talk about the psychic abilities in this world a little bit more. Thought I'd provide you guys with a handy little chart I made to keep everything straight for myself while writing. 
> 
> International Enhancement System Scoring (Out of 15) 
> 
> **Telepathic abilities tier 1** (creation of mental shields, communication via mental links, mind reading)  
>  **Telepathic abilities tier 2** (mind control, dream walking, illusion, hypnosis, binding)  
>  **Telepathic abilities tier 3** (clairvoyance (including object memory), empathy (including removing, adding or amplifying sensations), mind melding, astral projection, second sight (communication with the dead))  
>  **Telepathic abilities tier 4** (communication with non-human entities, such as other mammals, via mental links)   
> **Energy Manipulation** (force field generation, mental/psychic attacks)  
>  **Telekinetic abilities** (Any and all abilities to act on the physical realm through psychic abilities listed)  
>  **Technopathic abilities** (any and all manipulative abilities specific to metals, electricity or other technology)  
>  **Meteorokinesis abilities** (any and all manipulative abilities specific to the weather or general moisture in the environment)

_Clint woke up completely only after he fell from his bed to the floor, twisted up in his blankets._

_He’d been having crazy dreams all week, last night it was an elephant over 40-feet tall who yelled at Clint about his history homework and the night before that his parents turned into trolls and wouldn’t stop asking him riddles. Tonight involved him failing a science test and getting thrown into the ocean. He couldn’t dreamwalk like one of the kids in his math class could, so they were definitely his. It was exhausting._

_Clint sighed and untangled himself from the blankets, almost falling over again as his left foot got caught up as he was trying to stand. After clearing himself of that hurdle he tugged on a hoodie and wandered into the hallway._

_He left all the lights off, Clint had lived in this house his whole life he could get through it with his eyes closed. Even when he made it to the kitchen he let his memory steer him to what he needed._

_Clint pulled his hood up over his head with one hand while the other worked, the first freeze had come a couple weeks ago and now even with the heater running most of the house was still too cold. Hopefully no one would hear him start some tea on the stove._

_It had been a few weeks since Maria Hill came to their house. She’d long since gone back to Portland to keep working. Since she left Clint had started paying more attention to the news, paying more attention to the adults when their brows were more furrowed than usual. All anyone could think about were the murders and the now missing kids._

_Clint tried to ignore the fact that some of their neighbors thought it was the kids themselves that did it. Living out west was better than most places for psys but there was always going to be someone who thought the world would be better off without people like Clint._

_He had no guess either way, in terms of what was happening. He only knew what other people knew and no one could figure it out so he was stuck hoping that he wasn’t on anyone’s radar._

_As the water heated up in the tea kettle Clint shuffled his feet in front of the stove and reached out into the darkness._

_Everyone was asleep, but sometimes they were just awake enough to have very basic feelings, the closest Clint could get to reading the mind of someone who wasn’t awake._

_Some vague attempts at feelings floated from the neighborhood but everyone in his house was asleep, wait…_

_Barney was awake, kind of. No words or full thoughts but he was definitely awake. Clint turned on the spot away from the stove and peered into the darkness of the house._

_“Barney?” Nothing._

_Clint blinked and tried again, “I’m just making tea, do you want some?”_

_Before Clint could reach the light to try and see where Barney was the light was already on. That was weird. Barney was standing in the living room, staring at Clint the way he did when Clint was really getting on his nerves. But he hadn’t done anything, it was the middle of the night._

_“Barney?” Clint whispered._

_Suddenly, someone was standing next to Barney._

_The light was on when Clint definitely hadn’t turned it on and someone was standing next to Barney who definitely hadn’t been there just a half second before. Clint opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out._

_Barney and the man next to him smiled in sync._

\--

To be perfectly honest Clint was surprised how quickly life with Steve and Natasha felt normal. His old life was still missing, but there was something to be said about not spending every second in a jail cell. 

Steve worked at a small corner store and Natasha helped with the accounting at the same place a few times a week. Clint mostly stayed in the apartment but they refused to let him stay there alone so if Natasha went out, so did he. 

Natasha was a quicker study than Steve, that was for sure. She tried to ask Clint less open ended questions and more questions that could be answered with a yes, no or shrug and realized within the first full day that Clint’s hearing on his right side was shit. Clint could see the burn to ask why behind her eyes but instead she just moved to his left side while they walked down the stairwell and kept talking.

They were in New York City. The name tugged at something in Clint’s mind but no matter how much searching he did, he couldn’t figure out why, couldn’t figure out what memory or thought was missing. After a while he gave up and did his best to ignore the pull whenever the name was said.

Pierce came every few days, usually with Rumlow at his side, to drag him out of the apartment and drive him through the city to a nondescript highrise filled with prisoners who weren’t technically prisoners. 

They weren’t technically prisoners because this place didn’t technically exist. There were illusionists whose jobs it was to shield the building from the public. Clint hadn’t seen them but he could feel them in the background when the network was off. It didn’t matter that Clint knew all the turns and exits it took to get there, no one would see it if Pierce didn’t want them too and it wasn’t like Clint could tell anyone about it anyway. 

Most days Clint would be taken into a small and dark room and would read the minds of prisoners brought to him for hours. Searching for answers to questions asked by Pierce or the prison warden and finding them in the heads of unwilling minds. So far none of the people Clint had to read were psys, had no real mental skills to speak of, but going into their thoughts when it was clear they hadn’t consented to it felt like he was breaking some cardinal rule he was bound to pay for eventually. 

Other days Clint would be tasked with finding people who would soon be sent to a prison like this or a prison like the one Clint had met Steve at. 

Those days were arguably worse. Clint could read minds, duh, that was the whole thing. But finding people was a whole different story. In the past Clint could pinpoint his mom in a crowd, or find his brother in his classroom at school when they were young enough to attend the same school. But finding a stranger, in a vast sea of other strangers wore Clint down to the bone. 

Steve and Natasha’s apartment only had one bedroom but the couch was infinitely more comfortable than anything Clint had slept on since getting taken, and he usually spent the next full day laying across the seats. Most of the time not even sleeping, just zoning out, searching and sorting through his own thoughts and memories. Putting his house in order, his mom used to call it. 

He’d just decided to finally get up and try eating after one such night when someone knocked heavily on the door. Didn’t have to be enhanced to know who was likely on the other side. 

Natasha was closest to the door, opened it and didn’t bother getting out of the way, making it so Pierce and Rumlow had to go around her to step inside and motion for Clint to get up. He did so. 

“C’mon, man. You just brought him back last night give him a break.”

Steve. Clint closed his eyes tightly for a brief second before continuing to walk towards Pierce. Steve complained about Pierce constantly, complained about how often Clint came back most nights practically catatonic, complained about how Clint was just a kid and somehow Steve was still concerned about fairness but Steve hadn’t yet said anything to his face when Pierce came around. 

Clint didn’t need to have the network turned off to know what was going to happen next. Pierce crossed the room in three easy strides and closed his fists around Steve’s shirt collar. Steve wasn’t a small guy, or short by any means but Pierce still had him on his toes, his face going pink. 

“Do you own this psy?” Pierce waited for Steve to shake his head, “Is he your son?” Another shake, “Do you have any sort of biological or monetary claim to this psy?” A third, “Then why in the world do you think it’s acceptable to attempt to lay claim to this psy that clearly doesn’t belong to you?”

Steve grunted, trying to clear his throat, “He’s worn out, man.”

“Rumlow, take Clint down to the car. I’ll handle this.” Pierce let Steve stand on his feet but kept his grip around Steve’s throat. 

Clint gave Natasha and Steve one last glance before doing as he was told. 

\--

_Clint couldn’t catch his breath. There were at least six soldiers in the house now. The first one was still standing next to Barney, whispering into his ear with a smirk on his face as he gave Clint a sidelong stare._

_One of the soldiers was holding Clint in place by holding his arms tightly behind his back. Clint had just spent at least five minutes trying to fight him, kicking his legs back and trying to headbutt the guy. Nothing had worked and finally one of the other soldiers had gotten tired of it and punched Clint squarely in the gut._

_The soldiers were waiting for something. Or someone._

_Clint could hear the thoughts of all but one, the psy with Barney._

_He was an illusionist, a tier 2 telepath. Clint had never met anyone who could actually control minds, it was usually a parlor trick, but there he was shifting the thoughts around in his own brother’s head and Clint couldn’t shake the blank stare of his brother off._

_Where were his parents?_

_Suddenly the front door opened and the soldiers in the room stood at attention, watching a man in a dress military uniform cross to stand in front of Clint._

_Clint bucked one more time and growled in effort to try and get out._

_“Clint Barton,” he was at least a head and a half taller than Clint, “Age, unknown but assumed to be between 16 and 18. Presented with enhanced capabilities before the age of one. Tested against the International Enhancement System once he entered school, likely six years later. Scored zero on Technopathic and Meteorokinesis. Scored below 5 on Telepathic tiers 2, 3, 4 and telekinetic. Scored a 10.5 on Telepathic tier 1 and Energy Manipulation.”_

_“Let me go!”_

_The man ignored him, “Your mother was born in Iowa, but lived in New York City until the age of six when her parents moved… here,” he spat in disgusted._

_“However… your family still keeps in contact with an old neighbor. A Ms. R. Barnes and her grandson, James.” Clint tried to pull free as the man stepped closer, “As you see, you’ll come to regret that decision.”_

_That was enough of that._

_Clint squeezed his eyes shut and gathered all the anger and fear to the center of his mind before pushing it out in all directions. Aside from his private lessons over the years Clint didn’t use his energy manipulation skills very much, no reason for it unless he was just trying to show off. Since the soldiers knew what he could do, there was no point in trying to hide it._

_The man holding him let go in shock and Clint stumbled away to try and cross the room to reach Barney. Around the room the others reacted in pain or confusion at the sudden input and Clint lurched forward._

_The psy who had been next to him pulled Barney behind him and shook his head, “You’ll have to be much faster than that, little one.”_

_“Give me my brother.” Clint pulled together another round of energy, felt it crackle around him._

_“You think your brother will want to go with you after what you did to your parents?”_

_Clint paused, long enough his energy to leave room for weakness and for the nicely dressed officer to catch him off guard and hold his arms tight behind him, locking a pair of handcuffs around his wrists._

_“What are you talking about?” Clint hissed._

_The illusionist smiled and Barney answered from behind him, “You killed our parents.”_


	6. Chapter 6

_“Where’s my brother?!” Clint howled, “Where are my parents?!”_

_Clint pounded his fists against the metal bars holding him locked in the cell again, huffing when all it did was send a jolt of pain through his wrists, “Fuck,” he whimpered._

_Clint tried to push out the memory of what happened after his brother accused him of murdering their parents, and really, what the hell was that? There’s no way, there’s no proof. Why would Barney think that?_

_The soldiers had thrown him in the back of the van, handcuffs on his wrists and a blindfold across his eyes. He had no idea how long they drove for, where they were going. Whenever they stopped one of them would hold Clint tightly by the arm, or by the throat one memorable time, to keep him from escaping._

_Clint fought them each time, kicking his legs out, tucking his chin to try and bite any available unprotected skin. It went on like this forever, according to Clint, endless stretches of nothing punctuated with quick bursts of Clint putting forth a lot of effort to create enemies._

_Now he was here, wherever here was. Locked in a prison cell with a bunch of strangers. Clint had always slept without his anchor and all he wished for now was the peace it brought. Without the anchor, and in his panic, Clint could hear everything. He was slipping in and out from each of the minds in this basement jail house and up into the top floor._

_No one held the answers to the questions he couldn’t stop asking himself. What happened to his family? Is this what happened to the other kids? What's happening to him?_

_“You gotta calm down, kid.”_

_Clint flicked his eyes to the older man sitting in the cell with him, then out from their cell across the empty hallway to the line of cells across from them. Someone was crying, was Clint crying?_

_“Relax.”_

_Clint could barely hear him over the minds he couldn’t get out of._

_“I. can’t.” Clint choked out._

_The prisoners in the jail were just an overwhelming sense of anger, pain and sadness, it was almost better to look up into the building. Meredith on the fifth floor was pondering what to cook for dinner, James on the second floor was playing solitaire on his work computer, Frank, opposite of him, was wondering how long it would take for a supervisor to notice. Did they know there was a prison below them?_

_“You can, they wouldn’t have taken you if you weren’t good at what you do.”_

_Clint groaned, dropping to the floor and pulling his knees up to his chest. The ground was cold and the metal bars dug into his shoulders as he tried to find more answers._

_“Leave him alone, Michael. He’s upset.” Another voice. Clint followed the sound, lighting his way into the mind that spoke and searching for answers. Calm and collected, like Michael, but more sympathetic._

_“The guards will notice it’s him upsetting the others any second now, you want them over here?”_

_The conversation drew Clint back, back into his own mind and then back to Michael. Clint sent a spark down the line of thought that Clint would get them all killed. Michael grunted, “Damn, kid. That isn’t what I meant.”_

_“Where’s my brother?” Clint searched Michael’s thoughts, searched through the other stranger and tried again to reach out across the basement for answers._

_“Do you even know where_ you _are?”_

\--

“Natasha is worried you don’t like her cooking.” 

Clint slid his eyes over to Steve, blinked once, trying to think up an answer. 

“I got a sweet tooth. Fruit, candy… anything like that. Her stuff is good just…” he trailed off, awkward and unsure. That wasn’t necessarily the first thing he thought he’d ever say to the stranger who took him in under duress. 

“It’s strong?” 

Clint nodded, trying to hide his smile. 

“I’ll let her know.” 

They lapsed back into silence for a bit while Clint worked. 

“What’s that, Clint?” 

Clint didn’t look up from his arm as he wrapped the length of leather tightly around his wrist and down his forearm. This anchor never worked as well as his old one, he’d tried to tell them at the training center before getting a rough punch to the gut. 

“Anchor,” he mumbled, pushing his thoughts deeper into the leather. His old anchor was soft and on a good, clear day Clint could connect with the positive thoughts that had been built into it over the years. His old anchor was an extension of himself and all the enhanced in his family that came before him. Now the only thing he could give the anchor was faint echoes of the ease and familiarity of the original. 

“What’s it do?” 

Clint flicked his eyes to Steve and then back to the end of the length of leather, “Focus,” Clint waved his hand towards Rumlow and his team of cronies on the other side of the room and then gave Steve a long suffering look, “They’re loud.” 

Steve blinked, “Can you hear me? I mean, my thoughts or whatever?”

Clint nodded. 

Only a few minutes after Clint had gotten into the car with Rumlow, Pierce had followed, shoving Steve down the front steps of the apartment building. The ride to the hidden prison was short, but the silence drug on. Steve glared at the back of Pierce’s head so hard Clint honestly thought it was going to catch fire. 

Once they reached the prison Steve had seemed to calm down and allowed the other guards to manhandle him over to the desk usually reserved for the poor unfortunate souls Clint would be mentally intruding on that night. Steve watched Clint as the network was turned off by Pierce and Clint did his best to hide his discomfort as Pierce crossed the room to talk with Rumlow out of their earshot, sending the other guards out of the room. Rumlow tossed the leather anchor in Clint’s direction as he left. 

Steve had seemed surprised when Clint answered him, whether surprised that Clint would actually choose to speak now that he could or how he sounded, Clint couldn’t know. Didn't want to know. 

“Is there anything I can do to make it easier?” 

Clint thought for a minute, pausing with the length of leather in his palm. 

“...You like Natasha?” 

“I love her.” 

Clint took a few steps toward Steve, “Think of something good. About her.” 

He put his hand up, the rest of the leather gathered in it, and held it in front of Steve’s eyes. 

“I’m going to touch your face.” 

At first, nothing changed. Slowly, almost as if Steve himself was dragging the memory out from the bowels of his mind the scene started to take shape. Fuzzy, like a dream, but easy to recall once it was all out in front. 

The memory was the same as it had always been except for Clint, obviously. Observing from the sidelines, unobtrusive. 

As quickly as Steve noticed Clint following the plot of the memory, Clint was gone. His hand moving away and allowing Steve to blink into the room he’d never left despite his adventure.

Steve blinked roughly, “That’s… different.” 

Clint screwed his face up for just a moment before grinning, “You’re a nerd.” 

Steve scoffed, partially out of surprise, “Doesn’t that mean Natasha is too?” he tried. 

Clint huffed a laugh and shook his head, going back to wrapping the leather around his lower arm. 

“I heard those guys talking about you when we came in. Were they telling the truth? Were you kidnapped from the west?” 

Clint sucked in a deep breath, pushing back on the intrusive thoughts that wanted into his anchor. The guards here gossiped worse than the girls in Clint’s school. He nodded. 

Steve shifted. Loud. he’d been handcuffed to the chair but the rattle was enough to stir Rumlow and Pierce on the other side of the room, Rumlow already had a hand on the holster of his gun. Clint squeezed his hands into tight fists to keep himself from letting his mind jump, skip, knock the gun out of his hand and across the room. 

“Sorry,” Steve near-shouted, turned to Clint and muttered, “Sorry. Clint, I’m sorry.” 

Clint wasn’t sure if he was sorry about the kidnapping or sorry about putting Pierce’s attention back on them. 

“What are they waiting on?” Steve asked, quieter, an eye on the duo. 

Clint didn’t get a chance to answer before Pierce stalked over and gestured for Clint to stand next to him. He looked down at Steve before he began speaking, “You know… this boy is quite strong. I believe I mentioned that the first time we met.”

Rumlow smirked from his spot by the door. 

“When I was having him trained he killed a doctor and injured two others, just with a thought.” 

The doctor had done every surgery with Clint wide awake, laughing when he screamed in pain. Put his hands on Clint. 

Put his hands on Clint when Pierce promised, he promised! 

Clint was defending himself and the guards got in the way, they knew better than to touch Clint.

Also, it wasn’t just with a thought. It took everything in him, everything Clint had. 

And it fucking hurt.

“He’ll do whatever I say, he knows what will happen if he doesn’t.”

Steve was nervous. On the outside he was mad but Clint could hear the tick of nervous thoughts piling to the front of Steve’s mind. Despite that he said, “Clint… it’s ok. You did what you had to do, alright?”

“Yes, Clint. Why don’t you tell him what you had to do?” Pierce turned to Clint and Clint knew this wasn’t a time that he could push back. Sometimes, sure. Not this time, not if Clint wanted to go back home any time soon. 

Over the past year Clint had learned that there’s a way to recall memories without really remembering them, without worrying about the stuff the memories came with. 

He packed his current self away in a dark corner of his mind and told one of the only people in the world who was still around to care about him about the time he killed someone. 

\--

_Clint spit out more blood and saliva and wiped his mouth with the hand that didn’t feel like it’d been rolled over by a car._

_After neither of the men in the cell with Clint had answers to his satisfaction, Clint had returned to banging on the bars, resorting to pushing out waves of psychic energy aimed at any living thing he could find._

_This finally did garner the attention of the prison guards who pulled Clint from the cell and beat him in the small open hallway in view of everyone in the basement. Clint tried to fight back, his energy growing weaker each time, fading with the intensity of the physical attacks on him._

_When he’d finally exhausted himself they shoved him back in the cell and the men watched him drag himself to the closest corner before the unnamed one slowly walked towards him._

_“I’m not gonna hurt you. We’ve got water, you’re not going to want that blood drying on you, it’ll get annoying.”_

_Clint nodded and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall._

_Clint could feel the panic building up as the man began rubbing the blood from the side of his temple but he tried to tamp it back down. He was too tired to do this. When was the last time he even slept? When was the last time he ate? How long had it been?_

_“What’s your name?”_

_“Clint,” he whispered._

_“I’m Jackson. You’ve already met Michael,” Clint took a deep breath to center himself as Jackson moved to clean around his most likely broken nose, “How old are you?”_

_Clint shrugged, “16, last spring.”_

_“Where’re you from?”_

_“Los Alamos, New Mexico,” Clint pulled his knees in closer._

_Michael erupted from the other side of the room, “Renegade scum, you’re from the west!”_

_Clint’s eyes were still closed but he smiled to himself as Jackson pushed away from Clint, likely turning to face him with a look of shock._

_“That’s the third one through here this month, Michael.”_

_Clint blinked his eyes open to stare at the two, “Other psys from the west have been here?”_

_Michael paused, Clint could feel his energy being reined in, reset, “Earlier you asked about your family. If you’re from the west then you know what happened.”_

_Clint fell silent and tried to squeeze himself further into the corner, “No. I didn’t see anything happen so how could I know?” He hadn’t seen anything, he hadn’t. He was asleep, then he was making tea and then there was Barney and the illusionist. That was it. There was nothing else. No memory, not even a whisper in the back of his mind._

_Jackson gave Clint a sympathetic look but Michael pressed on._

_“If you’re from the west then they killed your family before they brought you here.”_

_“Fuck off,” Clint hissed._

_“You asked where your family was earlier, why’d you ask? Why did you ask when you know what happened after they took you?”_

_“Michael.” Michael held his hand out to silence the other man._

_Clint ran the back of his hand across his face and winced, “The soldiers… they had a psy with them… an illusionist. I thought… I mean… He said I killed my parents but… but I don’t remember so I couldn’t have. I thought maybe… I thought it was all just…” He felt the anxiety building back up._

_“You thought maybe it was just a trick?” Jackson tried._

_Clint nodded, letting his head fall down, pulling his arms tight across his legs to try and block them out._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna chat? Catch me on tumblr at showme-thesun.tumblr.com :)

_Clint was definitely going to die in this room. Although, whether it was from injury or boredom or even starvation, there probably wasn’t a way to know._

_After Clint had gotten beat up by those guards he was moved into a room by himself. Handcuffed to the wall, blindfolded and a pair of bulky headphones shoved unceremoniously over his ears._

_There was no music playing through the headphones, just dreadful silence. It only took a short amount of time for Clint to realize it wasn’t the headphones that were keeping him from being able to read anyone’s mind, but the room itself. Total deprivation._

_They hadn’t fed him, or given him water, since. His stomach was starting to ache but they wouldn’t kidnap him and kill his family just to let him die in a cell, right?_

_Clint tried to push away his hunger and focus on something else, which of course he couldn’t because his stupid one-track mind would only provide him thoughts of all the best meals he’d ever had._

_Every friday night was family pizza night, his dad made some of the best steaks on the outdoor grill, Bucky’s grandma made excellent apple pie and always let Clint eat the extra fillings while the pie baked._

_Bucky._

_The soldiers had mentioned Bucky and his grandma. If they had killed his parents and taken Clint, what could they possibly have done to Bucky and his family?_

_Well. At least now Clint’s mind was thinking about something other than food._

_He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t realize that someone had entered the room. Not until they pulled the headphones off him._

_“How are you enjoying your time?”_

_Clint couldn’t place the voice. It wasn’t one of the guards, too… sophisticated for that. He’d heard it before though, and recently. Who was it?_

_“Fuck you,” he spat, for good measure._

_The voice laughed, “You have quite the sailor’s mouth for a child.”_

_“I’m sixteen,” Clint hissed._

_The person was next to him, Clint could feel it now, and he did his best to avoid lashing out as they pulled the blindfold down his face and let it settle around his neck. Clint blinked furiously at the sudden intrusion of light coming from the ceiling._

_“Must’ve learned it from that brother of yours.”_

_Clint’s eyes went wide as the realization hit. He did know this person. It was the psy from his house._

_They continued._

_“He was so destroyed when he realized you murdered your parents. Couldn’t believe his sweet little brother would do something like that.”_

_“Shut up!” Clint tugged on the handcuffs and felt his eyes sting with tears._

_“The other prisoners say you don’t remember what happened after that, but you and I both know that’s not true.”_

_Clint tucked his chin to his chest, he wasn’t going to cry in front of this asshole._

_The man chuckled and put his fingers under Clint’s chin to make him look him in the eyes, “I’m only here to help you, Clint. I’m only here to show you your true fate.”_

\--

“Okay, here’s the deal.” 

It was maybe a week after Clint and Steve had their little field trip to the prison with Pierce and Clint was sitting in the backroom of the corner store while Natasha sorted through an invoice for drinks that had come in the night before. Steve was out front manning the register. Clint looked over at Natasha from the pencil he was twirling around his fingers.

“Steve and I talked,” she shrugged, “He told me what you said, and there’s nothing we can do about a lot of this, you know that.” 

Clint raised his eyebrows.

“But… there are some things we can do. It’s not fair that the only time you get to talk is when that asshole is threatening your life.” 

Clint thought for a second. The doctors at the training center had taken his voice from him only after everything else they tried didn’t work. The months they spent trying to break him only made him more combative. Taking his voice had been a last resort. 

Clint raised his eyebrows in question. He could answer yes-no questions, Natasha and Steve could give him everything he needed at this point, without him having to ask. 

Natasha put her papers and pencil down and turned to face Clint fully, “You already nod and shake your head, and you shrug so hard I think your arms might fall off sometimes.” 

Natasha grinned and Clint ducked his head to hide his smile. 

“I knew someone who used sign language when I was a kid, she taught some signs to the kids in the neighborhood and I remember some of them. Here,” she held out her hands, “Steve told me you liked candy, and lucky for you I remember that one.” 

She took her index finger and touched it to the back of her jaw, she then twisted it back and forth. Clint copied her and she laughed, reaching into a drawer in the desk to toss a small package of M&Ms his way. 

“Don’t expect candy every time, I have an image to maintain,” Natasha warned, Clint nodded and signed for candy again, only getting a balled up sheet of paper aimed at his head. 

As she was about to teach him a new sign Steve poked his head in the doorway, “Hey, Clint. I need to watch the register but a delivery came in, could you come out and shelve it?” 

Natasha sighed, “Steve, I’m pregnant, not an invalid. I can do it.” 

Clint looked between the two of them as they argued. It took awhile for Clint to realize that most of the time when they argued it was mostly as a joke, they weren’t ever actually mad at each other. It was his job to wait them out, for the most part. 

“You won’t even pay him!” Natasha responded to whatever Steve had said and Clint waved his hands to get her attention, signing his new sign again and Natasha glared at him, “No. Steve isn’t going to pay you in candy.” 

Clint nodded his head instead, waiting for Steve and Natasha to agree with him. Steve looked back at the store to see if any customers had come by, “How about fruit? That’s healthier, at least. I’ll pay him in fruit, we got a delivery of apples from last week and they’re still doing well.” 

Clint nodded and stood up, trying out the sickly sweet begging look that used to work on his mom and Natasha finally caved, “I hate you two, but it's fine. Go.” 

Clint jogged after Steve as he pointed out the two boxes in front of the counter and told him which aisle they should go. 

Steve went back to the register as Clint shuffled the boxes through the store with his feet. He’d done a few things for Steve here and there, repaid usually in soda or a bag of chips that wouldn’t cause a problem if it came up missing in inventory. Clint hadn’t met the store owner yet but he imagined they weren’t too pressed if they were missing a few dollars here and there, especially with Natasha doing the books. 

The bell above the door rang, “Hi, Mr. Rogers.” 

Clint ignored the voice and kept working, unpacking the boxes Steve had given him while Steve talked to the person that had walked in. For the most part Clint tried to avoid anyone that wasn’t Steve or Natasha. They’d had a few friends over once or twice, but Clint usually tucked himself into a corner of the couch and tried to stay out of the way. 

“Hey, Clint,” Steve called over the store, “Can you grab a box of cereal off the middle shelf?” 

Clint nodded, more to himself than Steve, and grabbed a box. 

He walked it up to the counter and handed it over to Steve, ducking his head so he wouldn’t have to face the stranger. No one had been rude to Clint at the store so far, people hadn’t even really been rude to him out in the streets or in the apartment building but he could feel their stares, could imagine what types of rumors were floating around about this new kid in the neighborhood living with Steve and Natasha. 

Steve smiled at Clint, “Clint, this is Bucky, he lives a few blocks away from us. About your age, I think. Bucky, this is Clint, he’s been staying with me and Natasha.” 

Clint looked up at the other kid briefly and nodded a hello. The kid looked at Clint, more of a glare if Clint was being honest. The name tugged at his mind the same way New York tugged at him, if only he could figure out why. 

“Clint?” the other kid asked. 

\--

_“You don’t know me, just because you can make up stories doesn’t mean you decide what happens.”_

_The illusionist shook his head and leaned up against the wall next to Clint and pulled out a protein bar from his pocket and began unwrapping it. Clint’s traitor stomach growled at the sight but thankfully the older man pretended to ignore it, “I suppose so. However, I can provide you with some advice, one psy to another.”_

_Clint scoffed, “You’re not a psy, you’re a charlatan.”_

_“Now, that’s rude. I come in here, offer you advice and if you behave, a snack…” he took a bite, “And you respond like an animal raised in a barn. Although what can I expect from an enhanced child from the west?”_

_Clint rolled his eyes, “I’m rude? You called me an animal and I’m the rude one, sure.”_

_The other man sighed and held the protein bar in front of Clint’s mouth. Clint ignored his loss of dignity and took the offered bite. He wasn’t going to die of hunger just because of his pride, he wasn’t that stupid._

_“My name is Loki and I’m your best hope of getting through this with at least some of your sanity intact, so it behooves you to behave,” he looked down at Clint in disgust, “to the best of your ability, anyway.”_

_Clint tried to still hate him as he offered him another bite._


	8. Chapter 8

_After Loki left Clint had remained in the same room sans headphones and blindfold. The room had no windows, the walls, floor and ceiling were all the same color, a smooth and lifeless grey that left nothing to the imagination. No breaks or corners in the room led Clint to believe there were cameras but there must be, someone had to be watching him._

_The lighting never changed and food was slid into the room frequently enough but Clint couldn’t use that to put together any sort of schedule, couldn’t use it to plan out his days. The empty trays would disappear while he slept and no matter how hard Clint tried to stay away, or pretend to sleep, he never caught them._

_He quickly burned through any sort of mental stimulation games he’d been taught over the years. Clint had now started going through every year of his life, season by season, checking in on the specifics of each memory. The weather, the smells, the sounds._

_It wasn’t that Clint had a perfect memory, far from it. It was just that if you gave him enough time, and enough peace and quiet he could pull out events from his own past with near perfect recall._

_It was better than staring at the door hoping something would change._

\--

Bucky had been trying to avoid the corner store since Steve had been arrested. It was Bucky’s fault, after all. It didn’t seem fair to go into the store like nothing happened even though Bucky knew that’s exactly how Steve would treat it.

Bucky would try and apologize and Steve would say something like ‘It’s fine, prison isn’t even that bad, you know I’ve been a bunch of times’. Not as a brag, but as an excuse as to why Steve would’ve even bothered defending Bucky and his sister from that cop in the first place. 

But he had money today, and it was almost Becca’s birthday and this was the only store in town, as far as Bucky knew, that carried her favorite candy and her favorite soda at a reasonable price. Bucky figured he’d get in and out with minimal fuss, maybe just a minute or two of awkward conversation with the guy who took a literal hit for him. 

The bell above the door rang, “Hi, Mr. Rogers.” Bucky knew Steve would pitch a good natured fit over that, it happened every time. 

“It’s Steve, Bucky. I don’t want to be called Mr. Rogers until I’m at least 92.” Steve smiled from behind the counter and Bucky tried to give a non-awkward smile back.

“Haven’t seen you in a bit, are you and your sister doing alright?” Ever since it had become “Bucky and his sister” last year the whole neighborhood had been asking him that every time they saw them. Steve especially. Too much compassion, too much pity and not enough actual resources to go around. 

Bucky scanned the drinks and pulled out Becca’s favorite grape flavored monstrosity and set it on the counter, “Yeah, It’s Becca’s birthday tomorrow, you’re the only place that sells what she likes.” He headed for the candy isle and pulled out the sour gummy worms and dropped them on the counter too so he could pull out the money in his pocket. 

“Just the candy and the soda? Sure you don’t need anything else?” Steve asked. 

Bucky nodded, “Just that. We’re saving up for a real trip to the grocery store this weekend.” 

He tried to ignore the overly sympathetic look Steve gave him. It wasn’t that big a deal. When you’re a teenager and the closest thing to an adult your sister has to keep an eye out, that means sometimes you don’t get to go to the grocery store when you want. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Bucky spoke up. 

Steve looked up across the short isles and called, “Hey Clint, can you grab a box of cereal off the middle shelf?” 

Bucky had been digging in his pocket, doing this one handed was always an effort, but he heard the tail end of the question, “No, Steve. Really-” 

“Just let me, ok? I can’t imagine you actually made it home with the food last time, huh?” 

Bucky sighed. He hadn’t. 

Whoever Steve had called came up quietly and put a box of cereal on the counter, keeping their head down. 

Steve smiled, “Clint, this is Bucky, he lives a few blocks away from us. About your age, I think. Bucky, this is Clint, he’s been staying with Natasha and I.” 

“Clint?” Bucky took a step back, a few coins falling from his pocket as he pulled his hand out, “What… What are you doing here?”

“Wait,” Steve interrupted, “You guys know each other?” 

Bucky nodded and kept his eyes on Clint. It’d been, what? Two years since the last time they saw each other? He’d hit a growth spurt, but he was still a couple inches shorter than Bucky, skinny and all legs the same way he’d always been. 

Bucky couldn’t stop staring. Clint’s hair was short, shorter than how his mom used to keep it and short enough to see black lines snaking out around his neck and throat and up to his temples. Bucky suddenly realized what it was, “Clint…” He started again. 

Natasha had come out from the backroom and was standing next to Clint, speaking too low for Bucky to hear and Steve stepped out from behind the counter, “Bucky, let’s go outside.” He put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder to steer him out the front door.

Bucky let himself be directed out onto the sidewalk, trying to piece it all together. 

“What is Clint doing here?” Bucky asked, mostly to himself, staring back through the window at his friend. 

Steve stepped in front of Bucky’s line of sight, “Bucky, how do you know Clint?” 

“I…” Bucky stuttered, “Our families know each other. I… I used to spend every summer in New Mexico with him and his family before they shut down the border. What’s he doing here? Steve, why does he live with you? What’s going on?” Bucky couldn’t catch his breath.

“Ok, ok. Alright. It’s ok.” Steve put his hand back on Bucky’s shoulder and pulled him away from the door, down the sidewalk to the steps of another storefront where he pushed Bucky to sit down next to him. 

“To be honest, I don’t know a lot. Maybe a week after I got arrested outside the store,” Bucky cringed but Steve plowed on, “The guards took me to a cell and Clint was there, with some military guy. He said he’d been training Clint. He’d been training him so that he could use Clint’s enhancements for his own gain. You saw the network, right?” 

Bucky nodded and stared at the ground, “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he whispered. 

“They said Natasha and I would take him in or I’d stay in jail indefinitely. Seemed like a better deal for both of us. The network keeps him from talking unless someone with the control turns it off. I didn’t know he was from the west until a few weeks ago.” 

“Oh, my god.” Bucky groaned. 

“When was the last time you saw each other?” Steve asked. 

“Three years, maybe?” he shrugged, “It was only ever me and my grandma that went to New Mexico. Then the border got shut down and then… well…” Bucky held his hand up to gesture vaguely at… his whole life, really. 

How was this his life? 

Bucky and Steve sat on the steps for a few more minutes, watching the mid-morning crowd shuffle up and down the sidewalks, the traffic from the morning rush was finally slowing down. 

“Do you want to go back inside?” Steve asked after a while. 

Bucky had no idea what he was supposed to say to Clint when he went back inside, especially since Clint couldn’t even answer him apparently. He nodded anyway and let Steve pull him up and steady him before following him down the block and back into the store. Clint and Natasha were still at the counter, Clint was nodding at something she’d said and she looked up and nodded at Steve. 

“Hey, Clint. Sorry I freaked out,” Bucky kept his voice low, Clint looked up briefly and seemed to finally notice Bucky in full. Finally noticed what had changed, at least on the outside. 

Clint reached out to gesture ineffectually at the blank space where Bucky’s left arm should’ve been.

Bucky looked down, almost like he was as surprised as Clint was and laughed, “Sounds like we’ve both had a shit couple of years.”

\--

_Who knows how long it had been, but Clint finally found what he deemed to be his favorite memory. With enough alone time he could dig himself into the memory, recreate it in full in his little cell and watch it as often as he wanted._

_He was maybe eleven or twelve, old enough to start noticing other people and how they looked. Scratch that, old enough to notice other boys and how they looked. He didn’t really think of anyone at school that deeply, but there was one person he was thinking of._

_It was the middle of summer, Bucky and his grandma had been in town for almost a month and Clint was doing his best to first, not be embarrassingly awkward around his friend (now crush) and second, to not let on to his mom or any of the other psys in his life that he had a crush on someone he only saw for two months out of the year._

_He and Bucky had taken to walking around the property, sticking mostly to the trees at sunset. Everyone else had usually been called home by that point so it was just the two of them trying to stay out of trouble. Clint could feel the wind blowing up the dust and hear the leaves shudder._

_Clint was having a hard time nailing down voices in his memory, they were always just a bit off. Too quiet or too loud, too gruff or too air-light. He got Bucky’s voice right, though._

_“Sammie told me that he kissed a girl from your school behind the soccer field last week,” Bucky laughed as they walked._

_“What? No way. All he thinks about is girls and I’d know if he’d actually kissed one,” Clint responded, a big smile on his face, “And it’s not because I’d be reading his mind it’s because he thinks so loud!”_

_Bucky’s laugh became a howl and he nearly doubled over, holding on to the tree next to him to try and stay up. Clint shrugged and then fell into a fit of giggles quickly after. Wait, that’s not right. Clint didn’t shrug, he had ended up on the ground next to Bucky, his legs crossed and his laughter echoing Bucky’s until the two of them could barely make any noise except snickering gasps._

_“So if all Sammie thinks about is girls, what do you think about? Especially since none of us can read your mind” Bucky asked after taking in a huge breath and straightening out._

_Clint avoided his gaze and shrugged, for real this time, he had shrugged, “Well… that’s for me to know and you to never find out.”_

_“Brat.”_

_“Jerk.”_


	9. Chapter 9

_“He’s gonna freak out,” someone muttered from above him, “If you thought he was bad before…” they trailed off._

_“Well, there isn’t really anything we can do except wait,” another responded._

_Clint groaned, “You’retooloud” he mumbled. Everything was heavy, his eyes, his arms, his legs. Getting up, or moving at all seemed like begging for trouble. Clint groaned again._

_“Do you think they kept him awake?” they said, a bit quieter this time but the sound still startled Clint._

_“They always do, he’ll remember soon enough.”_

_Clint pushed against the ground to try and sit up, realizing he was laying on his side with one hand squished under himself. The arm that wasn’t trapped only served to push Clint from his side onto his back._

_The pain that spread from the base of his neck through his skull was excruciating enough that Clint couldn’t even cry out in pain. His eyes flew open and his uncoordinated limbs worked sluggishly to try and help him change position._

_Once he’d rolled onto his front, he drug himself up onto his knees, barely, and laid his forehead against the concrete. His arms took an eternity to respond and once they finally did Clint did his best to bring them up to feel whatever was causing the pain on the back of his head._

_He felt like he was a character in a one of his friend’s video games that was glitching. Like when you get poisoned and the only way the game could think to remind you of that was to make the controller shake every few seconds._

_Everything was shaking and now that he was more aware, it felt like every so often he could hear everyone’s thoughts and as soon as he noticed he was immediately thrown back into silence._

_That was new._

_Clint tried to sort through his memories, ignoring the inconsistent flashes of pain. Everything was in the wrong place. His thoughts were loose and floating around, that time he got an F on a middle school math test happening in the same realm as when his dad taught him to ride a bike without training wheels. Everything was wrong._

_“You shouldn’t touch that,” someone responded once, out loud, and a second time in Clint’s mind as whatever was on his neck glitched again._

_“What…” Clint panted, “Touch what?”_

_Silence._

_“He’s from the west, maybe he doesn’t know,” they whispered to each other._

_Clint's hands and fingers had finally started to cooperate and he felt the raised bumps of stitches on his neck. They ran in a rectangle lengthwise from the middle of his neck up to his head. When he pulled his hands away and lifted his head up off the concrete he realized what it was._

\--

The tug of _New York City_ and of _Bucky_ was enough to shock Clint into reacting once Steve and Bucky stepped outside. Natasha had her hand on Clint’s arm and for the first time since they met he was tempted to shake her off. 

Instead, he stumbled away from her and steadied himself with his hands on the counter where Bucky’s stuff was. It was all so… normal. 

Except for how it wasn’t. Clint was in New York City, the place he always dreamed of going. To see where his mom grew up, to see where Bucky lived. He was here, it would’ve been a miracle or an act of god any other time but now it wasn’t by choice. It was by force. He was here because he had to be or he’d pay the price. 

And Bucky, Bucky was here. _His_ Bucky. Something was still off, Clint could feel it. Bucky was older, and taller, and his hair was longer and… Oh god, his arm. What happened? The guards, the trainers, the doc, Pierce, they all told Clint that him getting taken was his fault. Of all the memories he’d tried to push away while in the prison, the one where they said his family shouldn’t have kept ties with their friends in the east, that one he could never shake. 

Was whatever happened to Bucky Clint’s fault too? 

No. Clint squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn’t his fault, none of this was. He knew better than that. 

Natasha was speaking. Clint tried to zero in on her voice, pull it to the top of the pile of everything he was thinking and feeling and hearing. 

“You’re in the corner store, you were unpacking a box for Steve and Bucky, who lives down the street, came in to buy something for his sister.” 

Clint nodded, let her keep speaking. 

She didn’t offer any false nothings to Clint, didn’t bother to tell him it was ok because it wasn’t. 

“It sounds like Bucky knows you, do you know him?” She finally asked. 

Clint lifted his hands off the counter and pulled them in to hug himself and nodded. Yes, he knew Bucky. Bucky was in the section of his mind he’d blocked off with strong walls and a huge ‘Danger: Do Not Enter’ sign hung on the door. Pulling out those memories was for the worst days and the worst days only. Clint hadn’t had to lean on them since coming to Natasha and Steve.

Natasha hummed. Playing twenty questions was more Steve’s skill, “Have you seen him in the neighborhood before? Did he say something to you? Something mean?” 

Clint shook his head aggressively, Bucky would never, “Ok, ok.” She soothed, “Did you know him from before all this?” She waved her hand around to represent this, his life now. 

Clint nodded. Now that he had a reason to talk, something to talk about, he wished Natasha could teach him more than a few concrete signs for easy things like candy and water. He wished he could tell Natasha what he was thinking about. He did know Bucky, or at least he knew him before, knew him before they both apparently went through some really shitty life changes. 

“Were you guys friends?” 

Clint smiled, he tried to duck his head but Natasha caught him and smiled back, Clint nodded.

“Well, good,” She put her hand back on Clint’s arm after locking eyes with him, “I’d hate for you to come all this way just to be neighbors with a kid that beat you up or something.” 

Clint huffed. Bucky did beat him up once, but it was a consensual bout of roughhousing… maybe more than a few bouts of roughhousing.

“It looks like he and Steve are coming back, do you want to talk to him alone?” She seemed to notice her choice of words as soon as they came out but she didn’t correct herself. Clint stared at the ground and kicked his foot on the chipped tile. 

He nodded. The bell over the door chimed and Clint turned on instinct to face Natasha before stopping himself and forcing his body to stay in the same spot. Bucky stepped closer, Steve behind him by a few paces.

“Hey Clint. Sorry I freaked out,” Clint looked up. Bucky freaked out? Clint was the one ready to bolt, and Bucky thought he freaked out? 

Clint wondered what he could even do. Where do you start with someone you haven’t seen in three years, especially when things were so different now? It’s not like they could talk about the weather. 

Clint gestured at the blank space where Bucky’s arm should’ve been. He was wearing a hoodie and the sleeve was hanging at his side. Bucky laughed, the same brash and loud laugh as before, “Sounds like we’ve both had a shit couple of years. Wanna go take a walk?” 

Clint looked up at Steve, and then back at Natasha. They had a silent conversation over their heads and Steve finally responded, “Stay close, Ok?” 

“We will,” Bucky answered and Clint noticed the old smirk of success and couldn’t help but smile too. 

He followed Bucky out of the store and they set off down the block to find a place where they wouldn’t be considered hoodlum, loitering teenagers. Clint moved to walk on his right side, closer to the storefronts and farther away from the street and Bucky cried out, “Still?!” 

Clint gave Bucky a side-eye and nodded, “You’ve never even been hit by a car, there aren’t even that many cars in Los Alamos for you to get hit with! The sidewalk is raised for a reason!” he howled, then he stopped walking and stared at Clint, “Wait, that’s still true right?” 

Clint smiled wide and nodded. 

\--

_Oh._ Oh. 

_“No.” Clint hissed._

_“There he goes,” someone muttered, “Now he gets it.”_

_Clint recognized the people now. The two men he’d been with before being taken away, taken where, though? He searched and sorted but the glitching, the constant burst of noise and thought and the just as loud silence, left him and his ability to keep his own mind straight useless._

_“It’s. It’s not. It can't. I can still_ hear _you.” Clint muttered._

_“Oh, they’ll fix that.”_

_“Michael!”_

_Right. Michael. Michael and. Michael and who? Jackson? Maybe. The two psys who were with him when he realized that those soldiers that took him were the soldiers that Maria Hill warned him and his family about. The soldiers from the east. The soldiers who left him here and the guards who beat him up and then…_

_Then Loki. Right. Loki the illusionist who lied to Barney and lied to Clint. And then the silence. The solitude of the cell that kept him from reading other people’s minds._

_And then the doctor. The doctor that smiled at Clint before ordering the guards to drag him out of the cell and strap him down to a table as he rooted around in Clint’s neck while Clint screamed so much that his voice cracked and gave up._

_Clint thought back to what Maria had said, remembered the black lines that fanned out across her neck and up across her temples, the scar on the back of her neck and how serious she looked while talking to his parents._

_Clint thought back to the urban legends Bucky told about psys who had networks, about how his grandma avoided detection but how lots of people weren’t that lucky. Too many people weren’t that lucky and now Clint was one of them._

_“He’s having a panic attack,” Jackson stated helpfully._

_Michael scoffed, “Yeah, no shit.”_

_Clint sucked in a breath and moved his hands from the back of his neck, running his fingers over his ears and up to his temples. He couldn’t feel anything there, could only feel the weight on his neck and the goddamn glitching. He tried to reach out the next time he could hear the thoughts of the two men and physically reeled back in shock when the network pushed back._

_He groaned and barely had enough time to center himself before the pain overwhelmed him and his vision went black._


	10. Chapter 10

_Clint glared at Loki from his spot in the far right corner of the room. This was much like the first time they’d really met. Clint was chained to the wall, wrists tight behind his back and ankles shackled with just enough slack to allow Clint to stand on his own but with a constant reminder that there was nowhere to go._

_Loki was standing next to the trainer, name unknown, while they talked in the doorway. Far enough away from Clint that he couldn’t hear them and the network was keeping Clint from being able to read their minds._

_Clint still hadn’t figured out what the trainer was for. He spent most of his time throwing pointless demands at Clint and threatening him if he didn’t follow them. If he was there to scare Clint into some version of a kid who follows the rules, they were gonna fail. Clint had no interest in that. Essentially because the rules boiled down to_

_1\. Shut up._  
_2\. Do what we say  
3\. Don’t fight back. _

__

__

_Ever since Clint had woken up with a neural network attached to his neck, weaving it’s way over and on top of Clint’s mental pathways he’d realized just how much shit he really was in. There wasn’t any going back from this now. His parents were gone, Barney was gone, and now the one thing in the world that made him special was under lock and key._

_It didn’t really matter how annoyed the trainer got or how many of Clint’s bones the guards broke, they couldn’t take anything else away from him. Might as well make it interesting._

_Sure, Clint figured it would get him kicked in the face every other day but the exasperated look on the trainer’s face whenever Clint was sent to him was worth it._

_Clint had no idea how long he’d been held for, but the trainer had never called in Loki before. Clint hadn’t heard even a peep about him since he’d come to visit him in the solitary cell. He looked unbothered while the trainer was slowly becoming more red in the face, his voice raising a few octaves but Clint still couldn’t place the words._

_After a few more minutes Loki nodded absently and strode over to Clint._

_“You’re making some mistakes you won’t be able to walk back, little one.”_

_Clint turned his head and spit, smiling up at Loki with all his teeth, “Walk back to where?”_

\--

The soldier across from Clint squirmed in his seat, the chains holding his wrists together clanging loudly in the windowless room. He was moaning like he was in pain but Clint knew he wasn’t, at least not from the digging Clint was doing.

It was late, or early, depending on which side of midnight it was. 

The day Clint and Bucky reunited Steve had closed up the shop early and Natasha had taken Bucky to go pick up his sister so they could all have dinner together. They’d spent the evening dispersed around the apartment, some on the couch, others at the table, Clint and Bucky on the floor sitting against the wall. 

After that Bucky and Clint had spent the next few days together, formulating their own style of communicating while Natasha taught them more sign language when she wasn’t busy. Bucky was limited, given the missing arm and all but they made it work.

Bucky hadn’t yet told Clint what happened and it sounded like Becca wasn’t talking about it either. It wasn’t like Clint really had a tactful way to ask what happened, why he hadn’t seen Bucky’s grandma and why sometimes Bucky looked off into nothing when they were hanging out. 

Clint figured since he couldn’t tell Bucky what had happened to him it was only fair that Bucky got to keep some things to himself. 

Pierce hadn’t come for Clint in almost a week. After dinner had finished late one night and Steve had taken Bucky home, Clint was just about to fall asleep at the kitchen table watching Natasha do the dishes, when Rumlow banged on the front door so hard Clint honestly thought he’d break it down. Clint knew it couldn’t last.

Clint was glad Bucky hadn’t been around to see Pierce direct Rumlow and his goons to drag Clint, woken from his half-sleep, into their van. It’d probably go worse than it did when Steve decided to play the hero. 

They’d dropped him in a chair across from the soldier and Clint started digging.

The soldier groaned again. 

“Shut up,” Rumlow growled at the soldier, smacking his hand upside the soldier’s head, making Clint lose his spot in his search momentarially. Shaking up the guy’s thoughts. He probably had a concussion. 

Clint didn’t pry, but Rumlow seemed more angry than usual. 

“His unit,” Clint started, waiting to make sure Rumlow, and by extension Pierce, were listening to him, “was on the way to a checkpoint at the end of the Hudson River.” 

Clint had been learning a lot about the east recently. For the past two weeks at least every person they’d had Clint interrogate had similar thoughts. They wore military style clothes, camouflage and dark neutrals, but they were vehemently against the government. Clint would’ve called them rebels, but Pierce had just called them scum. 

Some nights Steve and Natasha sat at the kitchen table well into the evening talking politics while Clint sat on the couch and pretended not to listen. The east had been dealing with rebel groups for years, apparently, and the more news stories that snuck in from the west about kidnapped enhanced kids the more people were deciding to join the other side. 

So far none of the soldiers Clint had dealt with had been enhanced, or at least not enhanced enough to actually be able to use their skills. A lot of them, however, were able to focus their thoughts and spent much of the interrogation time trying to throw Clint off. Things a normal person could only do if they’d had a lot of practice. 

This soldier, for all his moaning and groaning, was trying to throw Clint off his trail. Tossing visions of what Clint thought might be Chicago, or maybe St. Louis in front of the Hudson River thoughts Clint had found. Clint swiped his hand to the left, also tossing aside the lies the soldier was trying to send him, “Look, kid-” he started.

 _Don’t_ , Clint warned. 

Rumlow grabbed the soldier by his hair, “Don’t speak to him, unless you want my men to kill you after this.” 

The soldiers, the rebels, whatever they were sometimes tried to reason with Clint, as if he was the one they should be giving bargains to, as if he was the one in control. Clint looked down at his lap when the soldier tried to catch his eye. 

Clint continued on, “They were going to meet with an intelligence unit to try and take Newark, they have another group embedded there.” 

His throat was starting to hurt, and Clint was exhausted. Pushing past the network was an arduous task on the best of days but after the day Clint had had it was becoming impossible. The soldier tried once more to fool Clint and he sent a spark down the line of thought as a gentle warning.

_Stop it._

The soldier slumped against the chair, breathing heavily. 

“Does he have any names? The leader of the intelligence unit?”

Clint squinted, swiped his hand right, then left, like moving tabs on a computer and then shook his head. This soldier only knew where they were going, not what they were going for. It was smart, Clint guessed, to make sure that no one person knew everything. Safer that way. Safer from people like Clint. 

Rumlow growled and circled back to stand next to the soldier, getting ready to assault the man again. Pierce, from his silent watch by the door, cleared his throat. 

Clint hadn’t yet left the soldier’s mind when Rumlow pulled out his service weapon and shot the soldier from behind, splattering blood across the table and across Clint’s face. 

\-- 

_Loki gave Clint a disparaging look, “Do you know how hypnosis works?”_

_Clint turned his face to the wall and started counting the cracks, “Nope. But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”_

_He could see the trainer’s face from here, annoyed and desperate and angry all together while Loki stepped in closer to Clint’s space._

_“It does require a bit of finesse. But, it also requires a willing mind. Someone in your house was willing, that night.”_

_“No, you couldn’t hypnotize us.” Clint scoffed._

_“I didn’t?” Loki feigned surprise, “So all those soldiers got into your house while you made tea without noticing… how?”_

_Clint stared just past Loki’s face and tried not to grind his teeth, “You’re an illusionist, you tricked me, like you tricked my brother.”_

_“And your parents?”_

_Clint wasn’t going to cry about his parents. If anything, he was going to headbutt Loki if he got much closer. He was within range. There was nothing stopping him. So why couldn’t he do it? Every fiber in Clint’s body wanted it, wanted to hear the satisfying crack of his skull against Loki’s nose._

_Clint growled and gave up, finally looking at the older man, narrowing his eyes, “You can’t_ make _me behave. Not for long, anyway.”_

_Loki shrugged, “It’s not hard to find one willing mind in a family, find one and watch the others crumble.”_

_Clint wasn’t the willing mind, there’s no way. There’s no way his mom could be the willing one either, his mom was too smart and too quick to let anyone. That left his dad and Barney, the two who weren’t psys, the two who were susceptible to anything._

_No. They wouldn’t have let the soldiers in._

_“They wouldn’t?” Loki pondered out loud in response._

_Clint thought back to Barney’s face when he had been standing next to Loki. He was empty, his eyes seeing past Clint and into… nothing. There was nothing there, no thoughts or anything. Barney wouldn’t choose to be hypnotized but if Loki wasn’t able to get in through Clint or his mom, he would’ve worked his way down._

_Loki barked out a laugh, “If you were so strong, so able, wouldn’t you be able to attack me like you so desperately want to?”_

_Clint huffed, “I’m tired. And I’m hungry. And this fucking,” Clint mumbled and shook his head, “this network bullshit doesn’t help!” he yelled._

_Clint tried to work himself out of the chains but couldn’t move any closer to Loki despite the fact that he was practically breathing down his neck. He couldn’t move his head in the direction he wanted, he couldn’t do anything._

_Loki straightened up, dusted some imaginary dirt off his shirt and nodded, “Do as you’re told.”_


	11. Chapter 11

_“Sir, Undersecretary Pierce, Sir. I wouldn’t recommend a visit today.”_

_“It has been three months, are you saying no work has been done in the three months that he’s been here?”_

_Clint had been letting his head hang easily between his shoulder blades, allowing the stretch to pull lightly on his bound arms._

_He was, unfortunately, starting to get used to the rhythm of this place._

_Clint had started to put the flow of time into steps. There weren’t any days or weeks, the timeline of it didn’t matter just the order._

_First, he would be in the solitary cell. He hadn’t seen Michael, Jackson or anyone else that wasn’t a guard, the trainer or the doctor in a while. Second, the guards would take him to the doctor. The third step was a placeholder for the unending torture the doctor dished out that Clint didn’t want to think about. The fourth step was the agonizing recovery when his skull felt soft and nothing made sense. And the fifth was here, back with the trainer._

_“He… the boy, he’s erratic and aggressive. Unstable and incapable of following directions.”_

_That was mostly right._

_Clint was erratic and aggressive and was probably unstable now but he was definitely not incapable of following directions. He just didn’t want to._

_Time with the trainer passed slowly. The trainer would ask Clint to do something simple, like walk two steps, and when Clint wouldn’t do it one of the particularly vicious guards would grab Clint by the head and dig his fingers in close to the network implant until he complied._

_Other days he would turn off the network and make Clint read minds for basic things. Things that he could do when he was a little kid. His favorite was ‘I’m thinking of a number between one and one hundred’._

_The guards weren’t allowed to touch him during that because of his habit of sending sparkwaves of psychic energy through their brains. One guard had already been taken off his rotation completely because of it. So instead they beat him with their nightsticks._

_Clint had only just been dragged into the training room and handcuffed to the wall when this stranger walked in and went straight to the trainer._

_“There are steps we take, protocol in place to improve behavior.”_

_Clint couldn’t see them but the man sounded older, older than the trainer anyway._

_“He’s too young, increasing the neural network pathways past the preset routes could cause irreparable damage,” the trainer sounded… concerned._

_That was new._

\--

Clint stumbled into the apartment, trying not to wake anyone inside. 

_They really should lock their door_ , he thought absently. 

“Clint?” 

Too late. 

Clint slid down the closed door and sat on the floor. His throat was on fire and the headache he always had after the time with Pierce had migrated from the base of his skull to his forehead. The neural network was firing off, resetting across his brain, rebuilding the connections that are broken every time Pierce turns it off to use Clint’s abilities. 

Clint was so raw he wasn’t even sure who he’d woken up. The blood from the soldier was still splattered across his face, hands and clothes. Once they realized that Clint wasn’t going to move, Rumlow had dragged Clint up out of his seat and pushed and shoved him through the prison and into the van. Pierce hadn’t followed. 

Hopefully whoever he’d woken up would realize quickly that the blood wasn’t his own. 

“Hey, Clint. Wasn’t expecting you back until later today.” 

Oh. Steve. 

Clint closed his eyes and rubbed his hands across his forehead, trying to ignore the blood. 

Steve knelt down in front of Clint, peering at him in the darkened apartment, “Hey, okay. Okay. Let’s get you cleaned up, alright? Can I touch you?” 

Clint nodded and let Steve pull him up, his eyes still closed, and they shuffled to the bathroom. Steve stopped to talk to someone, Natasha? Yes. Right. Bucky and Becca had gone home. Steve then set Clint on the toilet seat to turn on the water in the tub. Clint wondered if the hot water was working today.

Clint huffed at the sound and covered his face, he’d scream if he could, if his throat wasn’t on fire and the network wasn’t busy tying itself tight around his vocal chords. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll turn it off soon.” 

The blessed heat from the water soon filled the whole bathroom with steam and Steve gestured taking off his shirt, Clint nodded. Clint had given up on modesty in the training center and Steve and Natasha had seen him in worse states before. Besides, this way Steve could see for himself that Clint wasn’t actually hurt. 

Steve turned off the water and helped Clint into the tub. Clint opened his eyes and stared at his hands while Steve cleaned the blood off his face and tried to be gentle around his neck. 

“Do you want me to get Natasha to wash your hair?” 

Clint wanted to nod, desperately, but he was very certain that doing that would cause him to throw up. He’d managed to contain it in the van on the way back but the nausea was kicking in hard.

Steve waited and then finally, “I’ll get her, she’s a lot better at this than me anyway.” 

Clint pulled his knees up to his chest and let his arms float in the warm water. It was tinged pink but not as bad as Clint thought it would be. 

Natasha came in and sat down on the toilet where Clint was minutes before and dipped her hands in the water before squeezing out some shampoo and gently putting her hands into Clint’s hair. 

They always kept his hair shaved close at the training center, Clint assumed because they were constantly messing with the network it was just easier that way. But away from the training center his hair had started to grow out again, uneven and impossible to style, Natasha had tried.

“I’m glad you’re not hurt,” Natasha said, letting the shampoo become more bubbly as she ran her hands over Clint’s scalp. His head was still aching, getting in the bath never helped with that, but her hands were always soothing. 

The network had started to settle but any effort to try and sort out his own thoughts still sparked pain down the tenderals and spiked down Clint’s neck. Instead, Clint opted for just zoning out while Natasha talked about her day. Clint would’ve been annoyed, besides, he was there for her whole day, but it helped settle his memories and put everything back into place. 

Once Clint’s hair was cleaned of the blood and grime, and then again with the soap, Natasha pulled the plug on the bathtub and draped a towel over his shoulders. 

Clint glanced down at Natasha’s belly and then back up at her, a question. He thought he had heard her say something about visiting the midwife soon.

Natasha smiled, “So you were listening,” Clint shrugged a bit, “I’m going this afternoon, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out with Bucky then? Steve has to work and the midwife is pretty strict about who’s allowed to come in. Not sure how she feels about a couple of hooligans.” 

She bumped shoulders with him softly and Clint nodded in agreement. She nodded back and rubbed his hair dry with a second towel, “I think Steve went to go find some clothes. You can sleep until it’s time to go.” 

\--

_The stranger sighed, “Did Laufeyson speak with him?”_

_Clint could imagine the trainer nodding, “Yes, about three weeks ago. The boy had no interest in what he said and his hypnosis is broken if he’s not longer in the room.”_

_Oh, Loki. Clint grinned at the memory he’d stuck in the back of his mind. Even with Clint exhausted in his current state Loki’s spell, such as it was, had only lasted until he stepped out of the room. The next guard to get near Clint left with a bloody and broken nose after coming too close._

_If Clint couldn’t get Loki he’d sure as hell get someone else._

_“He can’t do what you need him to do, Undersecretary. He_ won’t _do what you need him to do. He is ill suited for what you want him for.”_

_The trainer always spoke like this. Like Clint was a horse to be broken, or a dog to be house trained. Clint wasn’t a violent kid before this, but his hit list was slowly growing longer._

_“He was the best the researchers found for his skill set, if you are unable to train him I will take over.”_

_Clint could hear the sharp landings of his heels on the concrete as the stranger walked over to Clint. He kept his head down and closed his eyes._

_“If you put your hands on me I’ll bite your finger off,” Clint grumbled as the stranger came to stand in front of him._

_The new man grabbed Clint’s jaw to force his eyes up, ignoring the panicked stuttering of the trainer that Clint was still somewhat of a biter. Clint lowered his chin and closed his teeth hard on the man’s hand._

_The man didn’t try and remove his hand, he only took this time to place his other hand between Clint’s collar bone and his neck, digging his hands in enough to surely leave bruises. Clint sunk his teeth in further._

_The man moved to put his face as close as possible to Clint’s and whispered, “Bite me again and I’ll pull all your teeth out and hang you from the balcony of the president’s new mansion.”_

_Clint smiled around the blood he was now drawing._

_Clint let up once he realized he wasn’t going to fight Clint to get his hand back. The man then removed his hand from it’s vice grip on Clint’s jaw as he pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket with the other._

_“My name is Alexander Pierce and you belong to me.”_


	12. Chapter 12

_In the time that the network had been in place, Clint hadn’t tried to drill down into his memories too deeply. Or at all, really. The barrier he reached any time he tried to read someone else’s mind was too rough and cut deep, he had just assumed that the part of his mind that made him different was unreachable now._

_After Alexander Pierce, Clint was moved to a new cell. All white on the walls, ceiling and floor with no windows. The door had no handle on his end and the fluorescent lights were always on. Clint hadn’t seen another human in what he thought was at least a few days, had to be._

_The first time Clint realized he could set up his own barriers inside his mind, that the network hadn’t yet taken that away, he pounced. He sat in the corner of the cell, his head rested against the right angle of the walls and stared into himself._

_Idle hands and all._

_When Clint was little his mom taught him how to sort his memories, how to keep them all so you didn’t forget important things. Sometimes they went missing, like they had before the network and of course back when Clint was at home before that, but with enough dedication Clint could bring them back._

_Clint could bury himself so deep in the memories, put himself behind so many barriers, that at times he forgot where he was._

_The lingering heat from the setting sun and the colors in the sky against the low clouds was almost perfect._

_Clint had an abundance of sunset memories but this one was one of the best. It was just Clint, Bucky and Barney on a small peak on the other side of the valley, with a wide enough view that you could see the late summer sun setting perfectly behind the mountain range._

_They weren’t talking, Clint was pretty sure of that._

_But someone was talking._

\--

Clint and Bucky were playing cards underneath the corner store awning. Bucky’s grandma and Barney had taught them both about a million different games and after a bit of modification they had taken to playing with an old deck they found in the back office of the store. 

They burned through go fish, with Clint drawing numbers and suits on the ground, ERS and slapjack. They were now stuck in a game of war that had been going on for days. Clint had gotten rubber bands from the cash register and they’d keep their current decks tucked safely in their pockets until there was a good time to play. 

Currently, Bucky was winning. He had the majority of the deck and Clint was currently only surviving because of a King and a Jack that would win him back a lower card that he’d inevitably lose a few turns later.

“You should forfeit,” Bucky teased. Clint rolled his eyes and kept going. 

They both dropped a 10 card and stacked three cards face down on top before turning over fourth card, both Jacks, they stacked three more cards and Bucky snickered, “This is gonna go so bad for you.” 

Clint turned over an 8, and so did Bucky. 

“Goddammit,” Clint grinned and laid down three more cards, his last card was definitely the King. Who knows what Bucky had.

Bucky pulled his three cards out of his deck that he had sitting on the ground in front of his feet and dropped the fourth card face up, a Queen. 

Clint dropped his King and smuggly tucked all the cards he’d just won into his hands and mouthed a smart, “Thank You” clear enough for Bucky to see it and scoff. 

“Whatever, man. You cheated before and you’re cheating now, I know it.” Bucky dropped his next card and Clint dropped his, collecting the two cards and shrugging. 

No one walking down the street seemed to notice them playing and Clint had spotted a few older women smiling at them. Clint had to admit that for the most part the neighbors had been nice, although he wasn’t sure if it was because they liked Steve and Natasha and tolerated Clint or if it was because Clint’s hair was growing out enough that you almost couldn’t spot the network unless you tried. 

A group of loud young men, maybe around Steve’s age were standing out front of another store across the street. Clint had given them a passing glance when he and Bucky had walked outside but did his best to ignore the spark that shot up through the back of his head when he tried to see into their minds. 

That was a habit that was hard to break no matter what they’d done at the training center. 

Clint and Bucky kept playing, their decks slowly becoming more even in terms of the amount of cards as the neighborhood continued around them. Occasionally the group of men grew louder before the conversation would drop off again and Clint slowly got used to the wordless rise and fall. 

Bucky had figured out, almost as quick as Natasha, that Clint could hear better on his left side. He didn’t ask, same as her, just made sure to face Clint head on or stand on his left side. They were sitting so that Clint’s good ear was to the street so when the men had gotten quiet and Bucky was engrossed in the game, Clint heard someone coming up beside them. 

It was two of the guys from the group. Clint could smell alcohol on the breath of the taller one as he leaned over to look down on them. 

“Whatcha playin’, boys?” 

Clint kept his head down and turned over another card, hoping Bucky would ignore them too and they’d lose interest. 

Bucky shrugged, “Just cards.” He turned over another card from his stack and pulled the two cards towards him and flipped them over, laying his deck on top of them. 

“Looks like you’re playing war,” the shorter one answered, stepping around Clint to reach down and grab Bucky’s deck off the concrete. Bucky reacted, trying to pull them towards himself.

Clint lunged forward to try and grab the deck but the taller one was still behind him, he grabbed Clint’s arm and laughed, “We just wanna see, right, Benji?” 

“Right, Cam,” Bucky glared up at the guy as he pulled the cards out from Bucky’s hand and shuffled through them. Clint tried to pull his arm out of the taller one’s grasp but he dug his fingers in, “Just let him look, Cam loves card games,” he laughed. 

The taller one, Benji, was breathing his hot, drunk breath in Clint’s ear and Clint tried one more time to get his arm free, the guy grunted in surprise, “Hey, Cam. Looks like we’ve got a mutant on our hands, check it out.” he laughed. 

He must’ve spotted the network. Clint briefly wondered if Steve would be able to see what was happening from the window of the store. 

“Don’t call him that!” Bucky growled, reaching out to try and push him off Clint. Clint twisted around to try and push the man with his other hand. 

“Hey! Why don’t you go pick on someone else, huh? Or better yet, leave people alone, man.”

All four heads turned around at that, to see where the voice had come from. Clint and Bucky recovered quicker and pulled themselves away from the men and backed up against the wall. 

Both men groaned in unison. 

“We were just talking, Wilson. You and your hero complex can walk away now,” the shorter one grumbled. 

Wilson laughed, mostly to himself, “Just go, alright?” He had crossed the street and was now standing over the one who’d grabbed Clint. 

Bucky and Clint watched as the two stared each other down for a little bit longer. Benji scoffed and took a few steps back, “Whatever.” 

He crossed the street and the other one followed, the group they had been with then slowly moved down the street and around the corner. 

The cards had fallen to the ground in the scuffle, Clint squatted down to pick them up. 

“Barnes, right?” Wilson asked. Clint could see Bucky nodded in his peripheral vision as he flipped all the cards right way up so he could shuffle them. 

“And you? I don’t think we’ve met.” He asked Clint. Clint stood but he didn’t look up from the deck of cards. 

“His name is Clint, he lives with Steve and Natasha.” Bucky jabbed his thumb back towards the shop to indicate where they were. 

Wilson nodded, “Sorry about those guys, they’re always up to trouble. My name is Sam Wilson, I run the community center two blocks over-”

The door to the corner store opened and Clint whipped his head around to see who’d come out. It was Steve, “Hey I was in the back, what happened? Are you okay?” 

Steve kept asking questions, looking Clint up and down in a panic even though Clint nodded that he was fine and Bucky had responded, “It’s fine, Steve. Just some punks from the neighborhood.” 

“They held their own, Steve.” Wilson responded, “I was just making sure those guys left.” 

Steve sighed and looked Clint over one more time, “Thanks, Sam. I try to keep an eye on them, but…” 

He laughed, “It’s no problem, man. If you and Natasha don’t mind, they could always come hang out at the center. I know I haven’t seen you two around lately and I guess now I know why.” 

“Yeah,” Steve rubbed the back of his head, almost in embarrassment and looked around, “Yeah, let me talk to Natasha about it. She’s pretty protective.” 

“Oh, I know.” Wilson responded.

Bucky laughed and then cleared his throat, “I gotta go pick up Becca, can Clint come with me?” 

“Do I need to come too? Just to make sure?” Steve asked. 

Clint shook his head and Bucky responded, “No, it’s okay. We’ll come right back to the apartment.” 

“Alright,” Steve turned to Wilson, “Want to come inside for a drink?” 

Bucky had grabbed Clint’s hand and started pulling him down the street before they heard the answer. 

\--

_Alexander Pierce stood in the doorway as two guards walked into the cell. The boy was sitting in the corner, his eyes staring ahead, not yet reacting to the new people in his space._

_“Get him up.”_

_The boy blinked, but he didn’t move to get away from the guards. In fact he didn’t move at all. One of the guards reached for him and attempted to pull him up to stand by his arm. He was dead weight, sat firmly on the ground._

_“Sir?” one of the guards asked, turning around to face Pierce._

_Pierce hadn’t yet gotten a chance to respond when the doctor appeared behind him, “The only limitation of the neural network is that it can’t stop him from digging himself deeper into his own mind.”_

_“He’s…” Pierce thought for a moment, “Dissociating?”_

_The doctor hummed, “You could say that.”_

_Pierce nodded and looked across the room again, “How do you pull him out?”_

_The doctor smiled and Pierce gave him room to walk into the cell towards the boy._


	13. Chapter 13

_The doctor had dislocated Clint’s shoulder._

_Or maybe one of the guards had._

_Clint hadn’t noticed until the sharp twinge of pain shot down his neck, alerting him that the network had been turned off. It never happened gently or slowly, it was instantaneous. One minute he was in silence and the next he could hear everything that had been missing._

_It jolted him out of his memory and he groaned, letting a guard drag him up by his hurt arm. He sluggishly tried to fight back, for the sake of stopping what pain he could._

_The guard only tightened his grip and Clint gave in, letting the guard drag him across the room. Two men were standing in the doorway, He tried to pull himself together and remember who they were because clearly this was important. They hadn’t pulled him out like this in a while._

_“I was having a nice time, you know,” Clint quipped, mostly to himself, “Have you ever watched the sunset?”_

_These guys would probably be less shitty if they watched a sunset or two. Or if they had a friend._

_“Do you know where you are?” One of them asked. He then turned to face the other, “The trainer was… concerned about implementing more network changes, that it would cause irreparable harm.”_

_The other laughed, “Is that care I hear, Pierce?”_

_“I care about my investment, yes.” After a beat of silence._

_Clint didn’t bother answering the question, instead he tried to blink himself into more alertness. Pierce, the new guy. The one who threatened Clint and then locked him in this room. The other Clint knew just from the voice. The doctor._

_Clint couldn’t help himself, he habitually tried to reach out and read the minds of the people around him now that the network was gone._

\--

The next few days after the scuffle outside the store go in a blur. 

Bucky and Clint had picked up Becca without any further trouble and Clint waited with them until Natasha came to pick him up. They’d split the deck back up and started their game over again, rubber banding the cards safely once it was time for Clint to leave. 

Clint “helped” make dinner, which means he stood a safe distance away from Natasha and her kitchen knife while cleaning the dishes from last night’s dinner. She let him keep an eye on a boiling pot of pasta on the stove while she chopped some vegetables Steve had sprung for the day before. 

They had barely finished dinner, Steve’s lukewarm plate still waiting for him on the counter, when Pierce himself came to pick Clint up. He barely had enough time to pull on a jacket and his shoes before they were out the door. 

He’s still not sure how long they kept him this time but it was more than a day, maybe two. Not only at the concealed prison but at a smaller booking station and then at what Clint thought might’ve been a military office. 

At least Clint only came back with a few bruised ribs, no blood this time. 

As soon as Clint realized he was being taken back to the apartment he did his best to try and push it all back into the locked box in the back of his mind, it was exhausting work. After a full day of Clint laying on the couch with half-lidded eyes vaguely watching Natasha and Steve bustle around the apartment he only barely felt human again before there was a gentle knock at the door. 

Clint still jerked at the sound and Natasha thankfully didn’t give him a pitying look, just said something too quiet for him to hear before going to answer it. 

It was the guy from the other day. Not the guy who harassed Bucky and called Clint a mutant, but the one who stopped it. Sam, right? He caught eyes with Clint before turning back to smile at Natasha. 

“Thought I’d come by and check up on Clint. Steve told you we met, right?” 

Natasha nodded, “Along with guilting me about the fact that we haven’t come by the community center recently, as if it’s my fault Steve got arrested and added a teenager to the household.” 

Sam laughed, “Told me you were pregnant too, I couldn’t believe it without seeing for myself.” 

Natasha scoffed and headed over to the stove, pulling the empty teapot off the burner and adding water to it before putting it back on and turned the stove up. 

“We’ve got a nurse with a background in prenatal care at the community center, you should come get checked out,” Sam offered. 

“I’ve got a midwife,” Natasha answered briskly, “Clint, do you want tea?” 

Clint shook his head, smushed up against the armrest of the couch. 

Natasha’s eyes narrowed at Clint. He hadn’t eaten anything since coming back but Clint knew it wasn’t because of that. She wanted to stop talking about the baby, and Clint was the next best thing. Clint shrugged in response to her glare. 

The water started to steam and the teapot screamed and Natasha moved to make quick work of pulling out mugs and tea bags.

“The nurse is staying with us through the end of May, in case you change your mind,” Sam accepted a mug and watched as Natasha sat one down in front of Clint anyway, “Like I said, Steve and I talked. We’re putting together a group to give kids Clint’s age something to do during the day. Thought you guys wouldn’t mind having Clint spend a few days a week at the center, Bucky too, if he wants. I was headed there next.” 

Clint waited for Natasha to turn around before slipping his hand out and pulling the mug off the coffee table to hold it close to his face. 

Natasha leaned against the kitchen counter with her tea, absentmindedly running her palm lightly around her midsection with the other hand while she thought, “What did Steve say?” 

“He said you decide,” Sam sounded annoyed and Clint couldn’t see his face but Natasha sighed and mumbled something that sounded like _Of course he did_. Clint smirked and tucked his head deeper into the fabric of the couch, closing his hands tighter around the mug. 

“What did he tell you about Clint?” Natasha asked. 

Sam was silent for a moment, “That he was stuck in a bad situation but that he’d probably like getting a chance to be a kid,” Natasha didn’t interrupt him so he continued, “We can keep him safe, Nat.” 

Clint knew she wasn’t worried about that, he was as safe as he was going to be here. She was worried about Pierce. 

“He told me about Pierce, too. He won’t take him from the center, I promise.” 

Natasha looked down at her tea and Clint shuffled himself up to sit to stare at Sam in confusion and Natasha groaned, “He’s not psychic, Clint. Just annoyingly intuitive.”

Sam laughed, “You interested in trying out the center?” he asked Clint. 

Clint looked at Natasha, then shrugged and nodded his head at the same time. 

“Is that a yes?” Sam asked, looking between Natasha and Clint. 

Natasha took a sip of her tea, “It’s a yes.” 

\--

_The doctor wasn’t a psy, Clint had figured that out quickly a long time again. However, Clint had never tried (never been able) to read him. His thoughts were concepts instead of words, complicated and disorganized in a way Clint had never come into contact with. Clint pulled away while they continued to talk._

_“I need compliance,” Pierce stated._

_“That can be obtained through the network, get him a new trainer.” the doctor responded._

_Pierce was… empty? No, not empty. Unreadable. It wasn’t that there was nothing there, it was that there was a barrier Clint couldn’t get past. Slippery and gentle, like walking through a mist._

_“I need him to be responsive. The network still allows for him to hide and the trainer is incapable, it would seem.”_

_Pierce couldn’t be a psy himself. Clint would’ve noticed, he would’ve felt it. Maybe someone taught him how to cover up, or maybe the network really did break Clint._

_The doctor sighed, “Maybe it’s time you take over.”_

_Clint tried to push past the barrier without falling out the other side, but nothing worked. The guard was starting to loosen his grip and Clint thought about testing him. There was nowhere to go but his arm hurt like hell, at least if he let go Clint could try and pop his shoulder back into place._

_“You know I don’t get my hands dirty with this kind of work,” Pierce scoffed._

_They both looked away from each other and over to Clint, the guard closed his hand tighter around Clint’s arm and jerked him up. Clint groaned, “Stop it, asshole!”_

_The guard flashed angry for a moment and Clint pulled together what energy he had to try and push him away, this guard was weak when it came to mental games so he let go of Clint’s arm easily and Clint stumbled away, holding his arm._

_Clint was acceptably fearful of the doctor but Clint also didn’t know how to get his arm to stop hurting, “Your goon pulled my shoulder out.”_

_The guard started to argue back but Pierce held his hand up, “Doctor, put his arm back into place and then have the guards bring him to my office. I want the network back on and I want him handcuffed and muzzled.” He turned to look at Clint and then at the guard, “Understood?”_

_The guard answered affirmatively and Clint slid back down against the wall._


	14. Chapter 14

_“I want the old trainer back,” Clint grumbled, watching the blood from his broken nose drip onto the floor._

_He was telling the truth. Pierce was unreadable, and not just because the network was keeping Clint from using his telepathy. The expression on his face never changed, Clint never knew if what he was doing would keep him from getting beat up or praised. Although, so far, no praise had happened._

_At least the trainer had been easy to figure out. Much easier to taunt, that’s for sure._

_There were no guards to enforce punishment, just Clint and Pierce, locked in this room in a staring match._

_Pierce would issue a firm command and then wait Clint out. No hitting or punching or shoving, just silence. He ignored every insult Clint hurled at him and never repeated the command once he’d said it the first time._

_Clint was bleeding this time only because instead of throwing another insult, Clint threw a fist. Pierce had reacted quickly, dodging Clint’s hand to grab it instead and jab his elbow up into Clint’s face. He had stumbled back, hands on his face and his hands came back bloody and his breath quick. Pierce didn’t even look ruffled._

_He also didn’t respond to Clint’s rather pleasant, given the circumstances, attempt at a request._

_Pierce was silent._

_He’d asked Clint to stand in the corner facing the wall._

_Clint initially denied just on instinct and habit, but the longer the standoff continued the more Clint realized he was terrified. The idea of not being able to see what Pierce was doing brought up fear Clint didn’t know was still in him._

_Pierce had never actually hurt him aside from their first meeting and just now, but no one here could be trusted._

_Clint gently rubbed his forearm below his nose to wipe away some of the blood and walked towards the corner._

\--

Clint fiddled with the end of the leather strap, he could never get it to fit right and tuck in at the ends the way his mom had been able to. He continued to toy with it as he waited, sometimes he sat in the interrogation room for a while before a new pathetic soul would come in. Rumlow was leaning up casually against the wall near the door. Pierce had turned off the network before walking out of the room, leaving the older man in charge. 

“I heard a rumor,” he started in a taunting voice, “That Sam Wilson found you. Fuckin’ bleeding heart he is, huh?” 

Of course Rumlow knew about Sam. 

Clint had only been able to go to the community center twice since Sam had come over. The first time both Steve and Natasha stayed long past their welcome, watching him and Bucky from the corner like how Clint’s parents did when he went to kindergarten the first time. They only left after Sam threatened to put them to work. 

It was good. Clint and Bucky could play cards without anyone interrupting them and Clint was doing his best to turn on the charm with the lady at the front desk so she’d give him the good candy she had hidden in the desk drawer. Clint hadn’t really talked to anyone else but no one commented on him or tried to get him to do anything he didn’t want to do. 

Clint ignored Rumlow and stared at his boots instead. 

“Someone should tell him he’s wasting his time, especially on you,” Rumlow continued. 

Clint felt the build up of energy in his core, but he pushed it down. Pierce would be back soon and finding Rumlow in an unconscious heap on the floor would be a good way to get Clint put back in the prison. 

“Maybe I should tell him?” Rumlow laughed. 

Clint looked up from the ground at Rumlow and glared, causing him to laugh louder, “Mornin’, sunshine! You don’t want me to talk to your little friend?” 

“Leave ‘im alone.” Clint whispered. 

Rumlow thought mostly in images and most of them violent. Clint didn’t miss the thought Rumlow had to toss Clint across the room. 

He didn’t get the chance, as the door opened and Pierce stepped in with another sharply dressed man following close behind. Rumlow stood at attention and Clint stopped messing with the ends of his anchor. 

“He doesn’t look like much, Alex.” The man said, a disappointed look on his face. 

Pierce snapped his fingers and Clint looked up, waiting for him to respond.

“This is Secretary Ross,” Pierce started, “He has requested to view your work in person, you will not disappoint me. Tell me every meeting the Secretary had today.” 

Clint gave himself a moment before he looked into the stranger. 

He was easy to read, clear and concise and it helped that he seemed to have a good memory, Clint didn’t have to dig much. 

“He had three meetings today,” Clint pulled each of them up, the guy was practically a walking calendar, “One with another secretary, one with his assistant and…” Clint paused, the man didn’t want him to see this one but Clint would find it, “One with his child’s teacher.” 

“Where does his child go to school?” 

Clint answered. 

“What is his favorite color?” 

Clint answered. 

“Where is his wife right now?” 

Ross turned abruptly to Pierce and stayed silent only out of what Clint could see was shock, as Pierce held his hand up to silence him. 

Clint hated this game. He’d done it before, when searching the city for people. He felt like a hound dog trying to catch a scent. 

Clint started with Ross, searching through the mental rolodex of people that seemed important to him until he found her. She was young, younger than Ross appeared and blonde, of course. She volunteered at soup kitchens for photo ops and was on the board of advisors for some company that provided clothes to poor kids in Asia. 

Clint picked up her scent from the level of information Ross had available at the front of his mind and reached out past the prison. 

He hopped from mind to mind, stopping only long enough to ensure they weren’t her before moving on. Long enough to create a steady connection to keep himself grounded outside himself. 

Clint tried the soup kitchen first, spotting street signs based on whose mind he could see into. She wasn’t there but the college student at the front desk had just seen her, her mental scent still fresh in the lobby. 

“She’s…” Clint muttered and squeezed his eyes shut to make the thoughts more clear, “She’s in a car. She’s going to meet with the same teacher,” Clint was able to make the jump from the driver of a car next to his wife to her and opened his eyes once he made the connection, “She’s three minutes away.” 

Pierce had long since let his hand drop to his side, watching Ross instead of Clint. Ross picked up his phone and started a phone call, “Hi, sweetheart… Oh, same as always… Yes, I did go to the meeting… Of course I wish I was able to meet Ms. Baker at the same time as you but you know my schedule… Alright… Yes… Yes, Honey… Alright… See you tonight.” 

Ross gave Clint a sidelong stare and turned off his phone, “She had to go, she had just pulled up at the school.” 

Pierce almost smiled. 

“We’ve been able to locate over twenty-five undercover rebels in a 50 mile radius with him.” 

Ross nodded, “And the energy manipulation?” 

“Leadership doesn’t want to risk him being spotted in an active situation, intelligence says the rebels as well as the Western military are unaware so far that we are using children from Project Nocte to further our aims, I’d like to keep it that way.” 

Ross looked around the barren room, “A demonstration, please, Undersecretary.” 

Pierce gestured for Clint to stand up. The only things in the room that weren’t people were the table and the chair Clint had just been sitting in. The smart aleck in Clint would’ve used this chance to give Rumlow a taste of his own medicine but he knew better. 

Clint opened both his hands and searched for the ball of energy that had built up earlier. When he found it took a deep breath and let it grow stronger before allowing it to flow easily down to his hands. 

When he felt he had enough Clint pushed out and grinned to himself at the satisfying sound the crunch metal of the chair made against the concrete wall. The table quickly followed. Clint could still feel the energy around him, still looking for something else to act on. 

“Have you ever thought about letting anyone else borrow him?” Ross asked. 

Pierce chuckled, “Is that a request?” 

\--

_Clint tensed up when he felt Pierce’s presence behind him. He breathed out through all his impulses that said to turn and push Pierce away._

_Pierce was silent. Clint had done what he’d asked, what was he waiting on?_

_“You psys from the west are very different. Bullheaded and thoughtless,” Pierce said easily, “I hadn’t realized how different training would need to be,” this part was said mostly to himself._

_Clint didn’t snap back, his nose was killing him and the blood was still dripping down his face, now onto the collar of his shirt, “The more I pondered, the more I discovered that you lack direction.”_

_Clint did roll his eyes at that, hoping that Pierce wouldn’t be able to see as he was facing the wall and Pierce was looking at Clint from behind. Clint didn’t lack direction so much as he didn’t need a direction unless that direction was out of this prison and back home._

_“For your sake and mine I will not let this behavior go unchecked. You are required to and you will follow my instructions, but I will also provide you with your own boundaries, if I find them acceptable.”_

_Clint moved to turn around but Pierce grabbed him with both hands and turned him roughly to face back into the corner, “That was not an invitation to turn around,” Pierce kept his hands on Clint this time._

_They stood in silence until Clint let himself go slack and Pierce removed his hands._

_“Speak.”_

_Clint thought about what he wanted, wondered if admitting to those things would be like admitting to himself that he was accepting defeat. Pierce might hold those things against him, play games with his boundaries and push them so far that Clint wouldn’t be able to stop him in the future._

_“I don’t want anyone to touch me… the guards… they won’t stop putting their hands on me,” Clint could feel his cheeks burning and he knew, without reading, that Piece knew what he meant, “and I don’t want to hurt other psys.”_

_“How honorable,” Pierce’s voice was dripping in something like sarcasm, “Turn around.”_


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Bucky and Clint coming up, y'all. Patience is a virtue :D

_Clint closed his eyes when he saw Pierce in the doorway._

_He had been dragged back into his solitary cell almost immediately after the doctor had finished his last suture. The guards bound him tightly to the chair in the middle of the room and left him in the silence._

_The network had grown stronger, or been made stronger and had learned all of Clint’s well-worn tracks through his own mind and Clint could practically feel it’s tenderals reaching out, closing down pathways the more he tried to create new ones._

_Obviously there weren’t any mirrors here for him to look at, but Clint wondered how far out the network reached, if he now had the black webs of the network spreading across his skull like he’d seen on Maria. He’d never met any other psys like her but she’d told him enough._

_The network itself was fused to the spine, the black lines were just an extension, a visual example of what the network was doing. Maria had said it was poison and Clint kind of agreed. Clint’s mind no longer “glitched” as he’d called it because any attempt to get out of his own mind was quickly shut down._

_Another shadow crossed the hall and joined Pierce in the doorway._

_“We found that binding his voice as well as his mind was the best way to control him when not in use,” the doctor’s voice carried across the room, louder than Clint imagined he needed to speak for Pierce to hear him. Maybe he thought Clint might not remember._

_He didn’t mention that once Clint had realized what was happening he screamed so hard, and for so long, that he’d caused his throat to bleed while they continued digging in his neck, expanding the network further down his spine._

_“He can still speak?” Pierce asked._

_Clint pulled lightly on his binds, tried to find some level of comfort without garnering any attention, “Yes, when the network is off he can still speak.”_

\--

The only reason Clint got to come to the community center today was because Sam had finally talked Steve into talking Natasha into going to see the nurse he’d talked about. Her belly was slowly growing and what had begun as rumors in the neighborhood about her visits to the midwife had turned into full blown discussions out in the open. 

_She married that troublemaker, Rogers._

_Now there’s that enhanced kid who never talks._

_And she’s going to be responsible for an infant?_

_How could she raise a child in an environment like that?_

Natasha and Steve were already weary about letting him go out after those guys harassed him and Bucky but as the rumors got louder, Natasha had grown more protective of Clint. 

It also didn’t help that Clint was getting picked up more often and brought back at all hours, not only sleepy and unresponsive but with black eyes, bruised wrists and hand-shaped marks on his arms. 

Pierce had been loaning him out to Ross and while Ross wasn’t much different than Pierce he had a temper that couldn’t easily be contained. It wasn’t even that Clint was breaking any rules, the guy just needed something to lay his hands on when the information he got wasn’t what he wanted and Clint was the closest thing to him. 

Clint couldn’t exactly tell them what was going on and everything was already complicated. The longer it went on the more Natasha didn’t want Clint out wandering around where the rumors could turn from harmless chatter to something more sinister. 

Besides, Sam had told Steve that the nurse had brought an ultrasound machine so if they wanted to see the baby before it actually came, they could print out a picture. 

Sam had given them a look of concerned shock when they walked in the door but snapped his mouth shut when Natasha spoke, “I couldn’t deal with his sad puppy dog eyes anymore,” she jabbed her finger at Clint, “and Steve wants pictures of the baby before it’s even here for some reason.” 

Sam just nodded and led them through the center and into the nurse’s office which held a few chairs, a few small beds and a desk shoved in the corner. Clint slid into the seat against the wall while Natasha and Sam talked to the nurse. 

Once Natasha was seated on the bed Sam sat down next to him, “At first I was going to ask if something was going on at home but then I remember that Steve can’t even kill a bug without going through the five stages of grief.” 

Clint smirked and put his hands into the hoodie pocket stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. 

“Either way I’d like for the nurse to make sure you’re ok after Natasha’s done, if that’s alright?” Sam asked. 

Clint shrugged. Despite it all Ross had actually gone easy last night. Steve had given him a frozen bag of peas last night for the black eye and together they did their best to wrap his ribs tight, but not too tight. Clint was sure at least one of them was broken.

“I think Jess is coming in to start today, she can check him out,” the nurse responded, overhearing their conversation.

“Thanks, Kait.” Sam responded. 

“Kait and Jess are from Canada. We can’t really afford to have any doctors or nurses on staff so we get volunteers from other countries, they started a few weeks after Christmas and they’re staying through the end of Spring,” he explained. 

Clint reached to gesture near his arm, a small circle at the shoulder as a crude and joking sign for Bucky that he had yet to actually complain about. Clint had seen him a few days ago, they played a round of ERS in the backroom of the shop while waiting for Becca to get out of school. 

Sam thought for a moment and then nodded, “Bucky? Yeah, he came in a little while ago, I think he actually decided to go to a school lesson for once. I’ll take you over there after this.” 

The other nurse, Jess, came in a few minutes later and soon Clint was sitting on the second available bed with Natasha pretending not to watch them from the other side of the room. 

“Let me know if any of this touching and poking hurts, okay?” the nurse smiled.

Clint nodded and let her poke and push her fingers into his cheeks and up around his eyes and nose, grimacing when she got to an especially tender spot, “Sorry,” she muttered sympathetically, “There isn’t really a good way to do that.”

She moved to Clint’s right side and kept talking. Clint tilted his head towards her, trying to pick up what she was saying. She noticed and moved back to stand in front of Clint and gestured to his right side.

“How’s your hearing on this side?” 

Clint shook his head, _it’s shit._

“Was this before or after… I don’t want to say fight because you look like a good kid who doesn’t get into fights, but after whatever this was?”

Natasha called out from across the room, “It’s a trick, he only looks like a goody-two-shoes.” She winked at Clint and turned back to continue with the nurse. 

Clint shook his head and raised one finger to indicate the first option. Sam cleared his throat, “He was at a training center for about a year, I think it happened there, right?” he directed at Clint. Clint nodded.

Jess nodded and for the first time in their short interaction seemed to notice the network on Clint, she recovered quickly, “They get you anywhere else?” 

Clint nodded again and tugged up his shirt to show her the bandages before pulling it all the way off, ignoring the strain it caused his ribcage. She unraveled the bandages. The bruising looked worse than it did last night but it felt a little better. She mostly looked this time, only touching in certain spots that looked especially bad. 

“It looks pretty bad but it feels like it's mostly just bruises. I think maybe one of the upper ribs might be fractured, keep it wrapped and put some ice on it a few times a day, anything else?” 

Clint shook his head and Jess nodded. She crossed the room and pulled out a roll of bandages to rewrap Clint’s ribs and once she was done she smiled, “Alright, come back if you need anything else.”

Clint slid off the bed and glanced at Natasha, trying to read how she was feeling about letting him stay. Natasha pretended to ignore him until the nurse, Kait, laughed under her breath at the two of them. 

“You can stay,” Natasha conceded, Clint grinned, “I’ll tell Steve to come pick you up at the end of the day, don’t leave without him!” She called as Clint bounced on his toes waiting for Sam to stand up and lead him out of the room. 

They walked back through the center, towards the other side of the building where a few classrooms had been created by putting up tall curtains to split one room into three. Clint had gone to a few classes, mostly just the reading one because the teacher let them check out books to take home. 

Before they reached the room Clint spotted Bucky sitting against the wall outside one of the curtains. “Why aren’t you in class, Bucky?” Sam asked. 

Bucky grumbled and kicked his foot out, “Got bored.” 

Sam sighed but Clint huffed a laugh and Bucky looked up, “Natasha let you out of the dungeon?” 

Clint nodded and watched Bucky push himself up off the ground with his hand to stand up, “Finally something interesting. I think they’re playing soccer in the gym.” 

“School would be interesting if you’d actually stay in the classroom longer than five seconds,” Sam called, rolling his eyes as the two boys walked past him. 

\--

_Clint ignored the men as they spoke, his eyes still closed to the dimly lit room. His throat still hurt and even though their voices were quiet his head was still pounding from his constant headache._

_He could still taste the blood in the back of his throat and wondered what would happen if he swallowed too much of it._

_Lost in his thoughts he hadn’t realized that Pierce had entered the room, walking behind him to look at the network. Either out of self-preservation or training Clint mercifully didn’t twitch when he felt his hands on the fresh skin of his neck._

_The old trainer would’ve praised him for behaving, Pierce only continued his examination. He tilted Clint’s head to the left and right and Clint grimaced at the strain it put on his neck._

_Pierce was still behind him when he spoke. Clint heard him but it sounded like he was muffled, or maybe whispering. Clint blinked to himself, that was strange. He’d heard him and the doctor fine when they were across the room but why couldn’t he understand Pierce now?_

_Pierce spoke again and the doctor stepped into the room, standing at Clint’s other side._

_Now would’ve been a great time for Clint to not be tied down to this chair, The doctor deserved a good elbow to the face these days._

_“It’s possible,” the doctor seemed annoyed, “But we haven’t expanded a network as far as this on a child before. There’s no way to know.”_

_Pierce responded, Clint picked up bits and pieces. The network had made it so he couldn’t hear, at least on his right side. It didn’t seem like it would come back when it was off the way Clint’s voice would. Clint thought back briefly to the trainer who hadn’t wanted to run the risk. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all._

_“It might improve, there are healing factors to consider. You wanted compliance, Undersecretary.”_

_Clint closed his eyes again as they argued over him._


	16. Chapter 16

_Clint is never alone after that. Either he’s with the doctor or he’s with Pierce and since he can’t annoy them with his voice he annoys them with the next best thing, himself._

_Sometimes Clint behaves. Loki was right when he said that some fights aren't worth it, at least that’s how Clint took their brief conversation._

_Clint still isn’t sure how he decides which fights are worth it and which aren’t. Most days he follows instructions by rote, tucks his defensiveness into a corner of his mind and doesn’t even realize how much time has passed before something knocks him loose._

_Whenever he is knocked loose, he kicks his feet out when they walk down the hallway, trying to trip whoever is leading him through the maze of a building. He flips Pierce off, first with his middle finger and then by using his fist and his forearm, the way Barney used to do it._

_This gets his hands handcuffed tightly behind his back and a swift gut punch but the annoyance on Pierce’s face is definitely worth it._

_Clint can tell he’s mad, mad enough to do something out of emotion and not out of control and counts it as a win. He wonders idly throughout the days if Pierce has ever gone back to his lair or wherever he goes when he’s not around and tries to figure out why Clint isn’t… what’s the word again?_

_Compliant._

_Clint’s not about to let him know, that for the most part, the threat Pierce issued about biting was the only one Clint had taken to heart. He wasn’t an idiot and the look on his face was serious enough for Clint to believe that he’d follow through on that threat._

_He’s following instructions today. Allowing Pierce to control his every move. He’s got him on his knees this time, standing close enough to make Clint’s breathing hitch even though Pierce had made it clear that, for now, Clint was allowed his boundaries._

_He’s deep enough into his own mind that he doesn’t notice someone coming into the room to watch from the doorway._

\--

They didn’t actually want to play soccer. 

Clint would’ve been interested if he didn’t know that Natasha might actually kill him for playing a contact sport with what were probably broken ribs. Bucky was never really a group sports kind of guy, even before. 

Instead they walked around the edge of the gym to avoid the game. 

“You ok?” Bucky asked, gesturing ineffectually at Clint’s… everything. 

When Clint and Bucky spent the summers together they were always roughhousing but neither of them had ever actually gotten hurt. One time one of the neighborhood boys broke his arm on his bike but that was about it. 

Every summer they spent the first few weeks trying to figure each other out again. A whole year gone by each time, a year worth of school and birthdays and holidays to catch up on. This time it still felt like both of them were walking on eggshells around each other. 

Clint clipped Bucky’s shoulder with his own and nodded, then returned the gesture to Bucky. 

Clint still hadn’t been able to get out of Bucky what had happened in the past few years. He had pieced together that Bucky’s grandma was either dead or long gone and Clint had never heard anything about parents, even before all this. 

To be honest, Clint kind of hoped she was dead instead of locked up in some other training center like he had been. Ms. Barnes was a strong lady but Clint didn’t even make it out of there with all of himself intact, he couldn’t imagine what it was like for someone who was actually from the east. He wasn’t sure what Bucky hoped for. 

Bucky sighed and nodded, “Yeah, not like I go out and get beat up by some jackboots every other night.” 

Clint scoffed. 

“You should tell Natasha and Steve,” Bucky muttered. 

Clint had managed to keep a few secrets from Natasha and Steve. They knew he was from the west, they knew about Pierce (obviously) and at least a little bit about the training center.

They didn’t know he could write. 

Clint wasn’t sure why they assumed he couldn’t read and write, except it looked like many kids didn’t get to go to school here so maybe they thought it was like that in the west. It wasn’t like Clint didn’t want to have actual conversations with them but it was easier, honestly, for Clint to just let them make the decisions for him. He got by with a few signs and it was fine. 

If they knew he could write they would _make_ him write and Clint was tired of being made to do anything. 

Clint had written out, in messy print, where he’d been when Bucky asked a few days after they met each other again. The PG version, anyway. 

Once they’d started coming to the community center Clint had been writing more, mostly for the teachers but occasionally for Bucky. Clint was banking on the fact that Sam was too busy to notice to tell Natasha and Steve. 

When Clint came into the shop after the first night with Ross, Bucky had pulled him to the back and watched with panicked eyes while Clint wrote down what happened. 

Bucky had promised not to tell. Clint had no interest in Steve playing the hero again the next time Pierce came to get him. 

Clint shook his head. 

“Why not?” Bucky sighed. 

Clint glared at Bucky and mouthed, _you know_ , as clear as he could. 

“They could help, couldn’t they?” 

Clint shook his head a little more emphatically that time. 

Clint didn’t have any paper or a pencil with him but after a few glances around the gym Bucky realized what he was looking for and pulled out a torn sheet of paper and a stubby pencil. Clint raised his eyebrows at Bucky. 

“It’s not like the teacher noticed,” Bucky said defensively. 

Clint wrote carefully, with the paper braced against the wall before showing it to Bucky. 

They can’t help. Tried before. Went bad.

“You should still tell them. At least then they’d know.” 

Clint leaned against the wall, the pencil and paper held loosely in his hand, thinking of a good response. 

Tell me.

He shoved the paper under Bucky’s nose and Bucky glanced up, “Tell you what?” Clint gestured to the empty space where his arm should be and Bucky stepped away, the same suspicious look on his face that he had at least twice a summer when Clint would promise that whatever they were about to do would work out, “Are you… are you trying to cut a deal?” 

Clint shrugged and then kept writing. 

You tell me what happened. I’ll tell them.

Clint knows how to wait someone out. Not only does he have experience via being a little brother but he’s also pretty sure Pierce didn’t actually mean to teach Clint patience and control, not like this, anyway. 

Bucky looked around the gym for rescue but everyone was busy, no one was even looking over at them. 

“You promise?” 

Clint spits in his hand and holds it out. It’s childish, he knows, but it works and Bucky spits in his own hand and they shake on it. 

Clint lets Bucky tighten his grip and walk them out of the gym. 

Bucky dropped his hand once they stepped out of the gym, almost like he’d forgotten they were basically holding hands. Clint does his level best to beat back the tide of memories that only serve to make him homesick. 

They wound through the hallways until they found an unused office the size of a closet and Bucky ducked in with Clint following close behind. 

Once they were inside Clint folded his arms across his chest and waited. 

Bucky huffed at the stance and leaned up against the dust-covered desk in the corner, “That face was the one thing I didn’t miss, you’re such a brat.” 

Clint waited. 

“I never understood how grandma could see the future but didn’t seem to know this was all going to happen,” Bucky mumbled down at his feet.

“It was probably two years ago now, I think? Becca had just been begging grandma to let her come with us to see you guys when they knocked down the front door. The police had been doing raids for a few weeks, Grandma wanted to come to Los Alamos earlier than usual but,” Bucky raised his hands up and shrugged, “That clearly didn’t work out.” 

Clint scribbled on the paper, 

They took her?

Bucky nodded, “Yeah, not before shoving Becca against a wall and scaring her half to death.”

Bucky looked down at where his arm should’ve been and glared at the empty space, “I tried to fight back and one of them shot me in the arm. It was just me and her and I was too freaked out to try and go to anyone. I was afraid they might come back for us.”

“Becca made a neighbor take us to the hospital after it got infected.”

Clint sat down next to Bucky on top of the desk and kicked his feet into the wood, “The cops said they took her because she was doing readings, telling people the future, but she never did that stuff. I think it’s cause they knew we were gonna try and leave.” 

Clint nodded and turned the paper over to squeeze in his writing, 

They knew about you. About my mom, too.

Bucky sighed, “Even after all that, I’m always telling Becca that the west is safe. That one day we’ll save up enough money and cross the border and they’ll never find us again. But they found you, so...” he trailed off. 

I found you, too.

Clint slid the paper across the desk and Bucky laughed, sniffled quietly and laughed again, “Ain’t that unfortunate, huh?” he whispered. 

Clint shoved Bucky and took the paper back, scribbling an insult into the last available white space while Bucky pretended not to watch. 

\--

_Clint was still on his knees, eyes on Pierce’s shoes when the figure stepped into his limited line of sight._

_He can’t stop himself from looking up, knowing that Pierce will immediately push his head back down in correction. A quick glimpse of Loki standing above him is all he needs to slip out of his own mind to get ready for whatever he might try._

_Pierce held his head in place long enough for Clint to get the message, he didn’t look up again._

_“I’ve been trying to figure out why you fight so much,” Loki spoke, “Your family is dead, you have nothing to go back to. Why make things worse for yourself?”_

_Clint can’t help but attempt to lunge forward, tucking his feet under himself to try and gain some balance. The revolt is short lived, Clint was too slow and Pierce had to know it was coming. After a short scuffle, Clint’s back on his knees with the older man’s fingers digging into the skin at the base of his neck as a warning._

_Loki looks unimpressed, but continues, “I thought, maybe… you might be thinking about your friends in the east. I’m here to tell you they won’t save you.”_

_Suddenly Loki is kneeling, face-to-face with Clint, “That clairvoyant one, the old lady? You think she didn’t know what was coming? Why wouldn’t she warn your family to keep you safe?”_

_Clint kept his head down but glared up at Loki, baring his teeth._

_“There is no one left to help you. There is no grand rescue,” Loki placed his hand on Clint’s cheek, a look that’s almost sincere and caring on his face, “Trust me.”_

_Pierce should be happy that at least Clint thought about the consequences before turning his face to bite Loki's hand._


	17. Chapter 17

_Clint tried to ignore the steady drip of blood coming from the wound on his right brow._

_He was tied to a chair, so it wasn’t exactly like he could do anything about it._

_Instead he shifted his jaw, trying to feel out the amount of freedom he might have._

_Pierce had not been happy about Clint biting Loki, imagine that. He’d pulled Clint off Loki and made quick work of binding Clint to the chair in the middle of the room._

_Any of Clint’s attempts to fight back were quickly stifled by Loki’s control and Pierce had nothing to say. Clint knew what he’d done and he was ready to face the consequences._

_The muzzle, he could handle, had expected it. Pierce didn’t use it often but Clint remembered it well enough from the last time. Remembered to breathe through his nose and tilt his head forward while the clips and straps were being done up so it wouldn’t be so tight when he straightened out._

_Pierce and Loki left the room, the door slamming shut echoed inside the room and Clint blinked into the empty space._

_The pitch black room was new._

_The dark he wasn’t fond of, but finally being left alone, even if he was bound and gagged… he wouldn’t complain about that yet._

\---

Clint isn’t about to admit that maybe Bucky could’ve possibly, maybe, a little bit been right about something. Clint _knows_ Bucky. 

Bucky would never let him hear the end of it. 

Clint followed through on his end of the deal. Smiled enough to show his dimples to distract the teacher while Bucky stole an empty notebook from the back of the classroom and then commandeered a corner of the gym to write just enough about Ross and Pierce and everything else. 

He waited until Steve came and picked him up, Natasha having already gone home, and pretended that the notebook was just another gift from the teacher, like the books that were slowly accumulating in a haphazard pile next to the couch. 

Natasha had been a better option to start with. While Steve was taking a shower Clint opened the notebook and slid it across the kitchen counter where she could see it while she was putting up a few dishes. 

She read the page quietly and only glanced up at Clint with something like pity on her face once while she read. When she was finished she closed the notebook and nodded, “Originally the only people on my list for a slow and torturous death were Pierce and my childhood next door neighbor, I can add one more.” 

Clint ducked his head to hide his smile and Natasha popped him lightly on the hand with his closed notebook, “You’re still on my shit list for not telling me you could write.” 

Steve was surprisingly calm, his mutter of, “I’m gonna kill him,” barely audible to Clint. 

Clint gestured for the notebook and pulled out the pencil he’d tucked in the back. 

Can’t. Natasha has dibs.

And that was that. 

The next time anyone came to get Clint, it was just Rumlow and another nameless guard. Rumlow was impatient and Steve was working a shift at the store. Lucky for everyone involved, honestly.

Rumlow and the guard scoffed at Natasha when she stood in the doorway, her arms crossed above her belly, but they didn’t come into the apartment. Clint did his best to ignore the hand she let linger on his shoulder when he stepped out to follow them down the stairs. 

They tossed Clint’s anchor at him while they were still in the car and Clint felt the sting of the network being turned off before they’d even put it in park. There was barely enough time for Clint to wrap the anchor around his forearm in the hallway before Rumlow was impatiently moving him along. Clint tucked the tail end of the leather in at the top as he was roughly pushed into a chair, a ruffled rebel already handcuffed in the chair across the table. 

Ross wasn’t nearly as demonstrative as Pierce, but he did like to put on a show. Most of the time it worked to scare the crap out of whatever poor dude got caught up or left behind by his unit but this soldier looked… annoyed at best.

A guard had already gotten to him, or maybe the trip from wherever they picked him up to the prison was more eventful than usual. The skin under his handcuffs was already chafed and red and the bruising around his right eye a sharp dark purple. Despite his unbothered look he was holding himself carefully, Clint knew that look. 

Clint zoned out while Ross talked, his usual spiel about how selfish and childish the rebel cause was, how the west and all its attributes were false. Enhanced people should be glad to be given the chance to serve their government, and pay the price if they kept themselves hidden.

The soldier had been picked up on the outskirts of the military base, thought to be part of an undercover intelligence unit. Ross was trying to piece together the structure of rebel intelligence for a few weeks now. Slowly working his way up from code runners to code breakers to foot soldiers who were placed all over the city. 

“I want to know what he knows, all of it.” Ross directed to Clint.

Clint slid in easy enough. The soldier didn’t try and fight him, let him root around while he continued to glare at Ross and the guards in the room. 

A lot of the intelligence units were based further outside the city. Clint wasn’t exactly a geography guru but they all had memories of a base near a lake, snow covered mountains. It almost made Clint long for his own mountains. 

Clint gave Ross answers to his questions while also digging for more of the mountain range, trying to see what else there was. This soldier must’ve just left, his memories were more vivid than what the other ones had. 

Everything came so easy Clint almost didn’t notice the barrier up against a meeting place and time Ross was asking about. Clint pushed further. 

And the soldier pushed back. 

_A psy. You’re a psy._

Clint slammed up as many walls inside his head as he could. He shut his eyes briefly and let his hands twitch as the barriers slid into place. When Clint opened his eyes again, The soldier across from him looked back blankly but Clint could feel him trying to get back in. 

How could a psy soldier make it this far into interrogation without anyone noticing? Why had it taken Clint so long to realize what was happening? Why would the soldier even let Clint in if he was capable of keeping him out?

Clint’s eyes flickered across the room to check each of the guards and Ross to see if they had noticed anything different. 

_It’s ok. It’s ok. Calm down._

Clint glared at the soldier and clenched his fist under the table, scrambling to find a way to block the soldier out.

Despite his insistence that it was _ok_ , whatever that was supposed to mean, the soldier was digging now. Knocking down the walls as fast as Clint could build them. Goddamn westerners, no respect for anything (Ross would’ve said). Clint couldn’t help thoughts of the training centers floating past the walls as if there was nothing there at all. It had been a long time since someone else really rooted around in Clint’s head, his defenses came late and weak against the man.

The memories he kept from home buried deep in the back, he couldn’t stop those from following just as fast. Clint shuddered and forced up a few more walls, stopping the memories before they got too overwhelming. 

A hand knocked against Clint’s temple, knocking his focus on the walls down for a brief second, “Speak.”

Rumlow had followed Clint along with Ross today, he’s the only guard who would bother to touch him during an interrogation. Clint tried not to send out a spark, a warning shot, to the guy and to Rumlow. 

Clint closed his eyes again, squeezing them tight. Should Clint turn the guy over? He was digging, after all. It was only fair. 

“He,” Clint rasped, “He’s a psy, sir.” 

Before Clint had time to react he was pulled from the chair and pushed up against the wall by Rumlow, a quick glance across the room showed that the soldier was being held down by a set of guards. 

The calm that he had been projecting moments ago was covered up with confusion and rage, not aimed at Clint but at the guards. Ross stalked towards Clint as he struggled to get free. 

“It took you over twenty minutes to realize that there was another enhanced in this room?!” Ross howled over Rumlow’s shoulder at Clint. 

Rumlow had both his hands on either of Clint’s shoulders and his leg up against Clint’s stomach as another brace point. Clint shook his head, “I didn’t know… I swear!” he hissed, Rumlow’s fingers dug in under his collarbone. 

“I promise!” Clint tried again, Rumlow pushed his knee into Clint’s groin. 

The other psy finally spoke, “Leave him alone! He’s just a kid!” 

Clint heard him grunt in pain as one of the guards punched him but Ross was now in his face, “This is no longer an interrogation, shut him up.” 

Clint shook his head. First, Clint didn’t think he could, the guy was strong. He could still feel him reaching out, although most of his attention was on the guards that were holding him. Second, No. Clint didn’t hurt psys. 

“I can’t,” Clint croaked, bracing himself for the sharp pain of Rumlow’s knee again. 

Ross scoffed, “Is your memory that poor? I’ve seen what you can do, now shut him up!” 

Clint did his best to try and not cry out when Ross punched him in the stomach. 

The soldier was dragged out of the room when Clint denied another time and soon it was just the three of them. 

Rumlow kicked Clint to the ground and pushed him until he was facing the wall, then he pulled Clint’s arms sharply behind his back, “Damn kid, just do what you’re told!” he seethed. Clint twisted in his grip. 

Ross kicked Clint in his side, giving up on using any words. Clint tried to send a spark of pain in response but Ross’s rage overrode any pain Clint could try to cause. 

Clint gave up once Rumlow shoved him to the ground and Ross’s boot, which had been aiming for his stomach again, got him in the head instead. 

Clint lost track of time, only realizing too late that they had stopped beating him up and that Pierce was now in the room. Rumlow and Ross beside him. 

Clint was already on his knees, one problem averted. His arms defenseless in his lap he hardly flinched when Pierce grabbed a fistfull of his hair and tilted Clint’s head back harshly so Clint would look at him. 

“Speak.” 

Clint coughed, felt blood slide down the side of his face and winced at the pain it caused to his ribs to do anything other than attempt a few shallow breaths. 

“Not my job.” 

Clint hated to think this, but he’s lucky Pierce is the one he’s got. The only person patient enough to wait him out to get a full answer. Bucky would say something smart about Stockholm syndrome, but it’s true. Pierce waited, his fingers tied tight pulling on Clint’s scalp. 

“I don’t hurt psys.” Clint doesn’t have to add _You said that wasn’t my job_. They both knew.

Pierce let go of his hair and Clint let unconsciousness swallow him up.

\-- 

_Some years Bucky and his grandma stayed long enough that Clint almost forgot what it was like to only have four people in the house._

_The last summer Bucky came to Los Alamos Barney was old enough to have his own friends to hang out with, none of which had a curfew so Bucky and Clint often sat in the backyard overlooking the garden well into the early morning after pretending they’d gone to bed._

_Barney had just been allowed to start drinking a glass of wine at dinner and one night Clint pretended he didn’t watch Bucky steal a bottle from the back of the cabinet while he was helping his grandma clean up._

_“This is disgusting,” Clint spit after his first sip, handing the bottle back to Bucky._

_Bucky shrugged and looked at the label on the bottle, “I think it’s supposed to be better if it’s cold?”_

_They both laughed and Bucky took a sip before setting it on the ground beside his chair, stretching out to look up at the sky._

_“You guys should stay, through the fall. There’s plenty of space at school,” Clint pulled his legs up to sit criss-cross on the chair._

_Bucky laughed, “Who’d watch Becca?”_

_Clint shrugged, “Send for her, mom would love to have another girl around.”_

_Bucky shook his head and turned his chair, kicking his legs out and balancing them on the armrest of Clint’s chair, “You’re dreaming, better wake up.”_

_“What?” Clint asked._

_The garden and backyard fell away, the weight of Bucky’s legs tilted the chair back towards Clint and he stood up, “Wake up.”_

_Clint blinked and looked around blearily at the dark wall surrounding him in the cell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, who's your guess as to who the rebel psy (haha, rebel spy! Get it? It's... yeah, I love puns.) is? Let me know in the comments!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes when I'm writing I'll come up with a really great idea and so I'll write it out super fast in all caps in the middle of whatever sentence I'm writing. Thankfully I'm a passable editor most days, so you guys didn't end up seeing some major spoilers LOL

_Clint would do almost anything to get out of the room and see another person._

_It wasn’t really the darkness he minded so much, he could handle that. And the silence would’ve been fine if it wasn’t filled up with his own memories. Memories that were wrong and twisted, broken to the point that they were more like nightmares._

_He knew it was the isolation. Regular people weren’t meant to be alone, that was doubly true when it came to psys._

_Clint’s mom used to say she knew he was a psy from the moment he was born because he’d cry anytime he was left in a room alone. Clint was pretty sure he wasn’t_ that _bad as a baby and he hasn’t cried nearly as much as he thought he would right now, given the circumstances._

_It still fucking sucked._

_The worst memories were the ones where everything started out normal enough and just as Clint thought everything was fine it would shift, just a bit and instead of family dinner night it was family “Clint, why did you let us die?” night._

_A kid can only take so much._

_Clint twisted his hands in their bindings and tiled his head to the left and then to the right._

_The longer this went on the more Clint thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, with Pierce. Loki was right, anyway. His family was gone, there was nothing to go back to, why fight it?_

\--

Bucky jogged across the street, looking left and right for any cars to dodge, before jumping up onto the sidewalk. 

Despite it being the middle of spring he’d had to wrangle himself and Becca into their winter jackets before heading out for the day. He’d just dropped her off at school, their cheeks both flush from the cold and from running the ten blocks from their apartment so she wouldn’t be late for the third time this week. 

He was hoping Clint was home so they could go to the community center. Bucky was willing to tolerate the sideways looks and the annoying teachers as long as Clint was there to keep him entertained.

Bucky turned his last corner and looked ahead to find the right apartment building. People were almost always out front of any apartment building in the neighborhood, Steve and Natasha’s included. Cold weather usually drove everyone inside, either to their own apartments or to any of the open corner shops but someone was curled up against the wall at the top of the steps. 

They looked homeless, which wasn’t uncommon in the city, but they weren’t wearing nearly enough layers for the weather and even though Bucky couldn’t see their face, they looked too young to be sleeping rough like that. 

“Hey, man. You alright?” Bucky called, stopping on the first step up to the apartment building. The person didn’t say anything, only curled in closer to the corner. 

Bucky walked up the steps and reached out to tap them on the shoulder, “It’s too cold out here, you should go ho--” Now that Bucky was closer he could see that it wasn’t just a homeless kid sleeping on the steps, but that they’d been beat up pretty bad. Straw-blond hair and a line of scars along the back of their neck. 

Oh, shit. 

“Clint, shit. Are you ok?” 

The realization sent Bucky straight into panic mode. Bucky reached out and tried to hold Clint’s head in his hand but Clint didn’t look to be in a position to help. He blinked briefly, looking around before his eyes fell on Bucky and he closed them again. His temple was bleeding and even over the black lines of the network Bucky could see the black and blue of a large bruise. 

He didn’t want to try and look any farther. 

“Ok. I… Ok. I’m gonna run upstairs and get Steve. I can’t carry you or anything, just…” Bucky tried to slip his hand out from Clint’s cheek gently and grimaced when Clint winced in pain, “I know. I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.”

Bucky slammed through the front door of the building and started up the stairs two at a time.

“Steve! Natasha!” Bucky stumbled up the stairs to the fifth floor, barely dodging someone who had come out of their apartment to presumably try and shut him up. Once on the right landing he turned down the hallway, “STEVE! NATASHA!” 

Bucky pounded on the door for what felt like an eternity. 

“Bucky, what the hell?” Steve opened the door, allowing Bucky to fall in, chest heaving, “What’s wrong?” 

Bucky panted, “It’s Clint. He’s hurt. Downstairs.” 

Steve locked eyes with Natasha for just a second before he was vaulting himself down the stairs, Bucky and Natasha in tow.

Clint was still in the same spot, leaned against the wall out of the way of the door. Steve skidded to a stop and squatted down to his knees, both hands on either side of Clint’s face. 

“Clint, open your eyes. It’s Steve.” 

He blinked, the same way he had for Bucky but shut his eyes again. Steve looked over Clint frantically, lifting up his shirt to reveal even more bruises. Clint had started shivering once Steve had touched his bare stomach and Natasha sucked in a breath. 

“Steve, we need to take him to the hospital.” 

Steve shook his head, “No hospital is gonna take him, Nat. Not if they know he’s a psy.” 

Steve turned Clint’s head gently back and forth, eyes growing wide at the bruising at his temple.

Bucky spoke up, “What about the nurses? At the community center? Maybe they could, or Sam knows someone?” 

Steve stared hard at Clint for a moment and nodded to himself, “Ok. Bucky, go upstairs and get him a jacket, or a blanket or something he’s freezing. Nat, go to the center, I’m right behind you.” 

Bucky ran back upstairs, noticing they’d left the door to the apartment open. He barged inside and dug through the pile of clothes next to the couch before spotting the blanket thrown over the top of the couch. He snatched it off and tucked it under his arm, shutting the door to the apartment. 

When he was back downstairs Natasha was gone and Steve was still on the steps, his face close to Clint, talking low. Clint was still shaking and his eyes were closed, could you still shiver if you were unconscious? 

“Steve,” Bucky said quietly. 

“Give me the blanket,” Steve called, reaching out for it. 

Bucky handed it over and watched Steve drap it around Clint’s shoulders before sliding his hands under Clint at his upper back and thighs, picking him up like a baby. 

“Let’s go.”

Steve wasn’t running but Bucky still struggled to keep up with him as they moved quickly through the streets. He’d tucked Clint’s head close up by his shoulder and he could only walk so fast to keep from jostling him around. 

Sam, Natasha and Jess, one of the nurses, were standing outside the center when they got there. Steve was panting when Sam reached out to take Clint from him. Clint wasn’t that big, but he’d hit a growth spurt while living with Natasha and Steve, gaining an inch or two on Bucky and a couple of pounds.

“What happened?” Sam asked, as they followed the nurse back through the building into the office. 

Steve looked between Natasha, Bucky, Sam and the nurse and Bucky finally spoke up, “One of the guys who uses him for his powers is an abusive asshole.” 

Not that Pierce wasn’t also an abusive asshole, but Bucky hoped he got his point across anyway. Sam nodded and carefully put Clint down on the first bed in the nurse’s office. 

“Sam, get the scissors out of the desk and…” Jess had stepped into Sam’s place standing over Clint, she looked over at Bucky, “It’s Bucky, right?” he nodded, “There’s a linen closet in the hallway, get some towels and water, right now.” 

Bucky turned to run out into the hallway as he saw Sam and Jess work to get Clint’s clothes off. He held as many towels to his chest as he could with one hand and dumped them on the table next to the bed as Jess continued talking, “And you are?” she turned briefly to Steve who was standing next to Natasha. 

“Steve,” he answered. 

“Great, I’m Jess. Was he conscious at all before now?”

He nodded, “Sort of. He looked at me when I asked if he was awake but…” he trailed off, staring at the bruise at Clint’s temple. 

“Ok. You’re the Steve that Natasha talks about, correct?” Once Steve nodded Jess looked away quickly from Clint to gesture vaguely at Steve and Natasha, “Sit down with your wife.”

“But--” Steve started just as Natasha was about to argue back. 

Jess cut them off, “No. I’ve got Sam and Bucky, that’s enough. We’re not about to have two medical crises in one day.” 

Steve snapped his jaw shut and looked at Natasha, Bucky imagined he was trying to see if it was worth fighting. Natasha, deciding for them, pulled a chair from the wall and dragged it as close as she could to the edge of Clint’s bed and Steve quickly followed. 

“Bucky, the water?” 

\--

_Clint was ready to behave, but he definitely wasn’t ready to admit that he had been ugly crying--panting and wordlessly begging behind the muzzle--when Pierce finally stepped into the room._

_Pierce didn’t provide any affection or sympathy, Clint didn’t expect him to, but he did loosen the restraints on Clint’s arms._

_“I won’t tell you that all this could’ve been avoided, everyone learns at their own pace,” Pierce’s voice filled the silence as he worked. Clint honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a voice that didn’t come from his own head._

_The older man let Clint pull his hands into his lap once he was done, Clint compulsively rubbed at his wrists and kept his eyes down, Clint did his best to not react when Pierce pulled on the straps of the muzzle, “This will stay on until I’m sure you’ve been broken of that habit.”_

_Clint nodded at the ground._

_“Kneel,” Clint slid out of the chair and dropped to his knees as gently as he could, his muscles protesting against all of it._

_Clint squeezed his eyes shut when Pierce walked out of the room and turned the lights on from outside. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting in the dark but the light burned behind his eyelids._

_“Your abilities are a dangerous gift. To use them requires training,” Pierce was standing behind Clint, he could feel him. Clint shivered when he felt Pierce’s hand cupping his head gently. Even with the network on, Clint could scream from how good it felt to feel another person near him._

_“You may not believe it now but one day you will thank me for this.”_

_Clint believed it._


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that now this work is part of a series because there will be a sequel! Also, you may have noticed that now there is, finally, a full number of chapters. I might push it back but I think its right. So here we go!

_There was a new trainer._

_He had a stern face and was easily annoyed by anyone with poor behavior, including Clint. He was strict and cared deeply about what Pierce thought. Clint wondered if maybe something happened to the old trainer and this trainer knew it could happen to him too._

_The guards still rotated around, a different one almost every day, but one guard showed up more often than the others. Clint figured out his name only because the other guards always had something to say about him, something to say about Rumlow._

_Rumlow was like a louder, more brash version of Loki who thought he was terrifying but couldn’t use anything but his fists to enforce the rules. Fists didn’t work on Clint._

_And Clint was unimpressed._

_Unfortunately Rumlow was smart enough to know that._

_Once he realized Clint wasn’t going to cower to him just because of a few punches he’d started taunting Clint. Generally on the way too and from seeing the trainer. Rumlow’s favorite topic was how not only could Clint not talk back but that he also had to be muzzled, “Like a little chihuahua huh? Bet that voice is real yappy.”_

_He loved that line. Loved imagining that Clint was just a harmless brat. Like this was time out at summer camp and Clint had just broken the rules._

_Clint did his best to not react. The idea of being put back in isolation was strong enough that most days Clint just bit the inside of his cheek and squeezed his fists tight enough to break the skin with his nails._

_Rumlow was really pushing it today, though._

_Eventually Pierce would learn that it would take more than a few days in isolation to break Clint._

\--

Clint slowly and unwillingly came back to consciousness. People were talking above him and someone was touching his forehead. He couldn’t remember what happened, did the doctor need to make an update to his network? Was he in trouble again? 

Still half-asleep Clint started to panic until he realized that he wasn’t in much pain. Everything hurt, but not in the way it normally did when the doctor was working. His chest was tight and his mind was foggy but not like usual. 

Whoever was touching his forehead didn’t seem to notice that Clint had woken up. After pressing something gently to the side of his head they moved on to his chest and Clint remembered. 

Ross and Pierce. Rumlow. That rebel-- the _psy_. 

Clint was pulled from his thoughts when they touched a particularly tender spot while feeling over his ribs that disappeared just as quickly as it came. Slowly Clint realized that everytime the hands touched him, the pain eased and he felt more present.

They were trying to check his breathing when Clint couldn’t contain himself any longer. He lifted one of his own hands blindly, reaching out until he hit the forearm of the mysterious hands and latched on, tightening his grip. 

The hands sighed.

Wait, that wasn’t right. 

Clint finally opened his eyes to the dimly lit room and looked up to Jess, the nurse from the community center. Sam was on his other side and Clint could just barely make out Bucky, hovering behind them. 

He didn’t let go of Jess’s wrist, just felt his pain seep away and sighed as she continued her work, “You’re quick, aren’t you?” she muttered, coughing out a laugh when Clint squeezed tighter

“Let go once the pain is manageable, alright? I can't work if you give it all to me, you know how it is.” 

Jess was an empath. 

Clint had known an empath. One of the kids in his grade at school back in Los Alamos. They had mostly used it as a party trick, guessing when people were lying just by touching them and feeling either their nerves or their bravado. Clint had never seen them pull a feeling out of someone like she was doing. 

It was better than any painkiller Clint had ever been given, that’s for sure. 

He held onto her wrist for a bit longer, willing the pain out. When he let go, he closed his eyes and Jess sighed heavily.

“You ok?” Sam asked. 

“It’s fine, I’ll lay down once I know he’s doing alright,” she answered. 

She stopped checking Clint over and let her hands rest on his upper arm. Clint opened his eyes and made himself look at her. 

“You’ve got a pretty bad gash on the side of your head, a couple of broken ribs and it looks like they might’ve dislocated your shoulder and put it back in before they brought you back. The bleeding has slowed down some so I’ll stitch it up that head wound soon and you can get some rest.” 

Clint nodded and immediately regretted it, his brains felt like they were sloshing around inside his skull. He vaguely remembered Ross and his boot making contact with his face at some point. Everything was fuzzy around the edges and Clint couldn’t even remember what happened past figuring out the soldier. 

He tried not to worry about what could’ve happened to him.

Sam spoke up from his other side, “I’m going to go check on the morning shift, I’ll be back in a little bit.”

As Sam made his way out of the room Jess took a clean towel and wiped off a bit more blood from Clint’s temple and set out a few instruments on the table beside her, “Head wounds bleed a lot, it’s not nearly as bad as your friends thought.” 

She tilted Clint’s head to the left, of course Ross had gotten him on his bad side, and Clint spotted Steve and Natasha sitting across from him. Natasha was asleep, her head on Steve’s shoulder, his arm was around her side. 

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asked quietly, trying not to wake Natasha. 

Clint twitched a bit when he realized the nurse was pulling more of his pain out so she could start the sutures without hurting him. He raised his hand to give Steve a thumbs up, then he pointed at Natasha. 

“She’s fine. Bucky found you, came in screaming half the building awake at seven in the morning. You know she likes to sleep in.”

Bucky huffed and sat down on the floor next to Steve, “It worked, didn’t it?” 

“You did good, Buck.” Steve responded, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder, rolling his eyes when Bucky shuffled out of arm’s reach. 

They lapsed into silence while Jess worked on the stitches. 

Clint tried to dig through his memories, to see if maybe he had been able to see what they did with the other psy. He’d never seen one out here except the other locked up psys, Loki and now Jess. Rumlow had killed a soldier before, was he able to kill the psy? Would he?

Clint kind of hoped they didn’t. The guy was just doing his job, the same way Clint was doing his. He’d be mad about the mental digging but Clint had been doing the same thing. 

Whether or not they got rid of the psy, Clint was dreading the next time Pierce came along. Clint was right, _had been_ right when he refused to hurt him, but Clint was still lucky it was only Ross that had beat him up. 

“That’s a lot of worry, kid.” Jess said, loud enough for Clint to hear. 

Clint squinted his eyes in confusion and she laughed, “I can’t read your mind, don’t worry. I can just feel it.” 

Oh, right. Empath. 

Jess finished up the last stitch and covered his temple with a bandage. While she was working Natasha had stirred awake and was now watching the pair in front of her with an intense stare, her head still on Steve’s shoulder, “What happened, Clint?” 

Clint tried not to move his head around too much while he scanned the room for something to write on. He made a writing gesture with his hand to try and move the search along. Bucky shuffled up to his knees and pulled out a sheet of paper from his back pocket. Jess grabbed it and handed over a pencil to Clint. 

“Don’t push too hard, ok? You’ve still got a concussion.” 

Clint nodded and started to write as Sam came back in the room. 

“Hope you guys are comfortable, cops are out looking for an enhanced soldier from the west who escaped a prison downtown. They need a warrant to check the community center but that won’t stop them for too long.” 

Clint stopped writing. 

“I assume you had something to do with that?” Sam asked, looking over at Clint. Sam looked amused and only slightly annoyed at the trouble Clint had likely just brought down on all of them. 

Clint shrugged and Bucky snickered from where he was next to Clint’s bed, “You broke out another psy?!” 

\--

_Clint yanked his arm out of Rumlow’s grip. He was handcuffed, which hampered some of the reaction but it got its intended effect. Rumlow stopped talking and Clint stumbled a few steps away._

_The other guard had already walked ahead and Rumlow had started up his one-sided rant and he was deep enough into it that he almost didn’t realize Clint had pulled himself free, too busy talking about how Clint should pick up some chores around the place, pay his keep._

_Clint didn’t really have a plan after getting away, running wouldn’t get him anywhere. He just wanted Rumlow to at least talk about something interesting._

_“What the fuck?” Rumlow laughed, “You got somewhere else to be, kid?”_

_He’d gotten used to the muzzle and how it impeded a variety of things that weren’t just his ability to bite. If someone strapped it on too tight he had to spend an inordinate amount of time keeping his breathing in check, and sometimes it was just loose enough that Clint had a bit more freedom._

_Clint blew out a derisive gust of air, loud enough to be heard across the hall._

_“Yeah?” Rumlow taunted. He took a step towards Clint and Clint spread his feet apart. Clint couldn’t punch back if it came to that but he had a pretty good kick. Or he could knee Rumlow in the balls, that’d be satisfying._

_“Don’t exactly picture you as the type to have a plan, I gotta tell ya.”_

_Clint rolled his eyes._

_“I’m not going to make threats,” Clint faltered, stupid really, and turned his back on Rumlow to see who spoke._

_It was the trainer, the second guard looming next to them as if he didn’t just essentially tattle on a teenager. Clint tensed when Rumlow’s fingers closed tight around his upper arm from behind._

_“Do I need to bring in Undersecretary Pierce? I’m sure he has no interest in dealing with what could be considered a school yard scuffle.”_

_Rumlow’s fingers pushed into Clint’s skin tighter, “Nah, boss. Just a little miscommunication is all, right?” He shook Clint by the arm to prompt him to respond._

_Clint let them stand in the hallway without response before letting himself get pulled forward. Rumlow didn’t say anything else._

_Finally._


	20. Chapter 20

_If the guard wasn’t still propelling them forward Clint probably would’ve stopped in the doorway._

_There was a new doctor in the room._

_Things didn’t change, not here._

_Not after what had been an eternity with nothing changing._

_The doctor smiled from across the room, “Thank you, guard. Once he’s settled you can go.”_

_Clint kept the doctor in his sights and didn’t fight back._

\--

Clint heard the argument before he saw it. 

They were all still camping out in the nurse’s office for the most part. Bucky had left a few times to check on Becca, who was staying with a neighbor, and Steve had gone to the corner store once or twice mostly to avoid getting fired. 

Clint was feeling better. Jess spent a few minutes each day chasing away headaches or helping him wrap his ribs in just the right way to breathe without a lot of pain. He was finally allowed to be out of bed to do more than go to the bathroom and eat when Bucky walked into the office that morning waving a brand new pack of playing cards in his hand. 

They were sitting in the hallway, playing War again when Clint felt the shudder of footsteps down the hall before he heard them. They stopped before the bend in the hallway that would reveal Clint and Bucky and seconds later Sam spoke up.

“You don’t have a warrant, this is privately owned property. You do know what that means, right?”

Sam had been able to keep the soldiers from searching the community center for a few days but it was starting to sound like that wouldn’t last much longer. 

Clint held himself steady and tucked his side of the deck into his pocket before standing up, pulling Bucky up with him so they could get closer. They lingered in the hallway to listen as Sam yelled at whoever was forcing their way through the center. 

“We have every legal right to search this premises for the fugitive we believe you’re harboring,” Clint recognized Pierce’s voice immediately and looked around the corner. Pierce, Ross and Rumlow as well as three other soldiers were bearing down on Sam. 

Sam scoffed, “What fugitive?” 

“An enhanced rebel soldier broke out of a secure facility--” Clint peaked around the corner and could just barely see Sam cutting Pierce off with a wave of his hand. 

“Yeah, y’all said that already. The only psy I’ve got is the one you guys beat up and then dumped out on the street, by the way.” 

That wasn’t entirely true, but Clint was glad Sam knew what to say and when to say it.

There was a rustling of paper and silence on the other end of the hall for a few moments before Sam spoke up again, “No, well. Your tracker is wrong. I’ve been over every inch of this property today and I think I would’ve spotted some rebels skulking around.” 

Clint and Bucky turned to look at each other, Clint shrugged and Bucky raised his eyes, they turned back to look down the hallway. 

“Boys! Come on, you’re tempting fate out here,” Natasha had come out of the nurses office and stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. They both looked back towards Sam and Natasha tapped her foot against the floor. Clint stepped towards her, dragging Bucky by his arm into the office. 

“Sam’s a grown up, he can handle himself,” Natasha said when Bucky started to protest once the door was shut. 

Steve was sitting at the desk, trying to make himself useful to the nurses by untangling the mess of medical supplies that had just been donated, but mostly failing, “Come over here and help, that’ll keep you out of trouble.” 

Clint huffed at the idea of Steve keeping anyone out of trouble. 

“Or,” Bucky started, “We could not. Clint and I still have a game of War going.” 

Clint hid his silent laugh behind his fist and shrugged helplessly when Steve looked at him for backup. Natasha had the good grace to turn away when Steve tried her next. Steve groaned to himself and Clint and Bucky moved to sit on the bed. 

Bucky and Clint pulled out their cards and moved to start up their game again. 

Then, a few things happened: 

First, Clint won a King and a Queen from Bucky due to a lasting streak of bad luck that had started out in the hallway. 

Second, Steve perked up from where he was hunched over the pile of medical supplies and squinted his eyes at the window to the alleyway behind the center. 

Third, someone _came through the window_ , shattering glass into the room.

Third (and a half, they were almost simultaneous), Sam lost his argument with the soldiers who were now barging into the office, Pierce and Ross sweeping into the room behind them. 

Pierce gestured silently to Rumlow who was standing at his side and he stepped out of the fray of soldiers to pull Steve up from his seat while another soldier grabbed Natasha from behind. 

Whoever had crashed through the window now had a few friends with them. They spread out in the backside of the room and Clint saw the telltale flash of psychic energy reach out across the distance to create a barrier in the middle of the room, encompassing Clint but just missing Bucky. 

He had taken off across the room to avoid the glass and another of Pierce’s soldiers snatched him up by the arm to pull him to the other side. 

“Get your hands off her! She’s pregnant, you assholes!” Steve howled at the same time Natasha slammed her foot backwards to land a kick to the soldier’s shin. 

Rumlow laughed, “Relax, bud. As long as the kid behaves your girl’ll be fine.” 

Clint looked anxiously between the brawl that was erupting on the other side of the barrier and the people who’d broken in. They were all wearing face coverings and Clint recognized the rebel uniforms immediately. 

The instigator pulled off his mask and Clint took a step back. 

“Is this him?” He asked, looking back at one of the other rebels for confirmation. 

The other rebel took his mask off and gave Clint a once-over, Clint took another step back and looked towards the other side of the room.

Ross took a step towards Sam, who had been crowded into the room by another soldier, “No rebels, hm?”

Sam struggled to break free, “They broke in through the window, you think they’d do that if I let them walk in the front door?” 

Clint had nowhere to go. He pushed himself up against the wall so at the very least he could see everyone in the room. 

“Hey, do you remember me?” 

It was the second rebel soldier. Clint was tempted to shake his head but he nodded instead.

It was the psy Clint had busted for Ross. At least now Clint knew what had become of him.

“It’s Clint, right? Clint Barton? From Los Alamos, New Mexico. Your dad was a doctor and your mom stayed at home with your and your older brother. My name is Phil. This is Tony,” he gestured to the soldier who’d spoken first, “We’re from the west and we’re gonna take you home.” 

Clint squinted in confusion at the psy, at Phil, and then at the other one, Tony. 

_How do you know that?_

Phil blinked, surprised that Clint could still focus his thoughts to send something out into the ether with the network on. He recovered quickly, “Once I got out I looked you up, Tony helped. It was a pretty quick turn around, but we’ve been trying to find other psys, like you, ones that got taken.” 

It was then that Clint had noticed the room had gotten quiet while Phil was talking. Steve was still struggling to get out of the soldier’s grip but everyone had stopped to listen. Clint locked eyes with Bucky and wished he could hear what he was thinking. 

Pierce stepped forward and even though Clint knew the barrier was there he jerked back, tripping over his feet. 

“They can’t stop you, Clint. You’ll be safe with us.”

Pierce took another step forward, examining the barrier with interest, and cleared his voice, “You go with them and I’ll have each one of your friends killed myself.” 

Clint knew he wasn’t lying. 

He turned to look at Phil and shook his head. He wasn’t leaving. There wasn’t any reason to go back, anyway. His family was dead and who knows if anyone in his hometown would want anything to do with him. What would Clint even say? How would he even say it?

“Clint--” Phil started to say, stopping abruptly when the soldier holding Bucky pulled him in closer, closing one arm around Bucky’s throat and drawing a gun with the other, holding it to Bucky’s temple. 

“I can start with your old friend, if you like. Bucky, isn’t it?” 

Bucky had his eyes squeezed shut tight and squirmed a bit under the forearm tightening around his neck. The soldier grunted and pushed the gun up against Bucky’s head hard enough to bruise. Clint stepped forward towards the barrier--

But suddenly Bucky was free.

The soldier was on the ground, writhing in pain. Bucky’s eyes were still shut but his arm was held up and straight out, like he’d pushed him.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, stopping his attempts to break free in confusion. 

“Coulson, you said there was only one psy, what gives?” Tony stepped back towards the window to gain some more ground and Phil looked towards Clint before sending a curious glance across the room. 

“I thought he was the only one,” Phil muttered. 

_Me too._

Bucky opened his eyes just in time to notice the soldiers had basically lost interest in keeping Steve, Natasha and Sam at bay, turning their guns and attention on him. 

Ross let out a barking laugh, “Alex, someone has been holding out on us!” He seemed almost happy. 

Rumlow took a step towards Bucky and Bucky looked over at Clint in a panic before pushing his arm out again. 

There was no visual of the energy, not like how the barrier was, but the effect was the same. When Bucky pushed his hand out, Rumlow toppled to the ground, wheezing as if the action had knocked the wind out of his lungs. 

Bucky looked down at his hand in shock. He mumbled something that Clint couldn’t hear and took a step forward, pushing his hand out again just as Rumlow tried to stand up, holding him in place without needing to touch him. 

“Tranquilize him, we’ll take both of them back,” Pierce responded quickly, pulling his own gun out from his holster and aiming it towards Bucky. 

Bucky pushed out again, this time with enough energy to push Pierce back far enough that his back crashed against the barrier. Steve had finally pulled himself out of his shock at the turn of events and had turned the tables, grabbing Rumlow by the forearms and hoisting him up against the wall. Sam had grabbed Natasha, disappearing down the hallway. To get help, if they could find any. 

Tony flinched, Clint figured he must be the one holding it up, and shot a glance at Phil, “Coulson, we gotta go. I can only keep this up for so long, especially with this kid in play now,” Tony hissed.

Phil held his hand out to Clint, “Come on. Come with us.”

Clint shook his head again and Bucky shouted from across the room, “Go, Clint! You should go with them!” 

_No, not without you!_

Bucky couldn’t hear him, but Clint tried anyway, tried to get Bucky to understand. 

“Hey, kid,” Tony took a brief moment to look away from the barrier over at Clint, “Either you go, or that guy kills you. I’m not sure you want that.” 

Clint glared at him and gestured over towards where Bucky was trying to hold his own against the soldiers, pushed a thought out again to Phil as best he could.

_They’ll kill him instead!_

“Tony and another one of my team will stay, they’ll help your friends. You have to believe me,” Tony nodded in agreement when Phil was done talking and held his hands up, fingers splayed out, and watched as the barrier started to come down from the top. 

“We have to go now, Clint.”

Clint spared one last look over at Bucky before he let Phil pull him out through the window the way he came in. 

\--

_Clint squeezed his fists tight enough to draw blood from the little crescent moon-shaped cuts in his palm from his fingernails while the doctor worked._

_He talked more than the old doctor, mostly to himself or the assistant, or in general to the two guards who alway stood at the doorway to the room. He pushed Clint’s head forward further and Clint felt his fingers on the sensitive skin at the base of his neck._

_The doctor patted Clint on the shoulder before continuing on, “Your trainer seems to think you can’t be trusted, young one. You’ve behaved plenty well today.”_

_Your hands are in my neck, asshole. Of course I’ll behave. Clint thought rudely._

_Clint stiffened when the doctor stopped working, his tools clinked down on the tray he had set up beside himself. Clint jumped when the doctor placed both hands on his upper back, moving them slowly down as he spoke, “You might be one of the most well-behaved enhanced children I’ve ever met. So many are wild beasts.”_

_He let his hands stop at Clint’s side before he sighed and pulled away, picking his tools back up._

_The part of Clint that he kept locked away, the part that always got him into trouble, started to wonder how long this doctor would stick around._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who saw that coming? I'll tell you what, I sure didn't.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're here! Yes there is a sequel-ish thing coming. I'm glad people enjoyed this story and I hope you enjoy the follow up! :) I also just realized that Bruce and Thor never showed up during this. They show up in the sequel I promise! Pinky promise!

_Clint tried his best to stay present when this new doctor worked on him._

_He was used to separating himself from the present when anyone worked on the network. In fact, it was easier than normal to do so when they were working on the network. It was easy to slip into memories, to hide somewhere else. Every layer of the network, every series of neurons laid down drove Clint further into his own mind. Like the glitching, an infinity ago by now, except with his own thoughts and far less painful._

_Until one day it wasn’t._

_Clint was deep in a memory. It was summer, as usual, and Clint, Bucky and Barney were at the lake. The whole family was at the lake, but these were Clint’s memories, what was important was where he was._

_They were out pretty far, the slimy mud having dropped away under their feet a while ago. All three were treading water and racing each other as far out as they could go before someone got scared and turned back._

_Bucky turned his face to Clint while they swam, hair dripping and goofy smile. Clint was trying to recall what they had been talking about before he heard a voice that didn’t belong to either his brother or Bucky. They were too far away to hear anyone that would’ve been at the edge of the water._

_The voice spoke again, loud and clear, like they were right next to Clint._

_It took a minute for Clint to dig himself out of his memory fully. Following the voice up to the present._

_The doctor was talking to himself, nothing new there. But…_

_There it was again._

_The doctor’s second voice, the voice Clint could hear but only when his network was off._

_The voice Clint had never actually heard because his network had never been off with the doctor before._

\--

“There’s a safe house upstate, across the border,” the man, Phil Coulson, said as he drove, “We’ll stay there for a few hours to make sure we haven’t been followed and then head west.” 

Phil was calm, checking his two side-door mirrors and the rearview mirror at typical intervals, even _using his turn signal_ when he changed lanes or took a corner. He kept his speed at the speed limit and didn’t even flinch when a police van sped past the car, lights and siren blaring. 

Clint kept his eyes forward. 

“It might be a few days before Tony and the others join us, he’ll have to take a different route but as soon as he can contact us he will,” Phil flicked his eyes to Clint in the passenger seat and then over to the right side mirror before settling them back on the road.

The further they got away from the center of the city the quieter the road became, and soon Phil pulled onto a highway, increasing his speed. Clint relaxed a fraction. He wondered if they were going to go to the base he’d seen in Phil’s thoughts, what the plan was beyond getting away from here. 

There was no one in the west for Clint to stay with, Phil and his team had to know that. Where would they send him? The only person he knew outside of Los Alamos was Maria Hill but Clint didn’t even know if she was still alive. She could’ve been taken up too. Right now, there was no way to know. 

Clint took a deep breath to try and calm himself down but still jumped when Phil’s phone rang. 

Phil gave Clint a short look and pulled it from the center console and accepted the call without looking at the screen, still trying to focus back on the road, “Coulson… Ok. Right… No, I can. You know I can. No, I don’t. Tony! Yes. Ok. Ok. Great. Talk to you soon.” 

He hung up and dropped the phone in his lap, flipping the turn signal on to change lanes. He pulled the car gently off the highway exit and pulled off the side of the road, putting the car in park. 

Clint looked up at Phil, “There’s a tracker in your network.” 

It wasn't a question but Clint nodded in answer. Pierce had said so when he gave Clint over to Steve and while they’d never had a reason to test it out Clint believed him. 

“Ok. I should’ve thought about that before, honestly,” Phil gave Clint a half-hearted smile, “Do you trust me to take it out? Tony said it should be easy to get and I’ve got pretty steady hands. We can’t go to the safe house with that in.”

Clint thought for a moment. Did he have a choice? Would Phil just leave him here and say it wasn’t worth it? 

Once they had gotten in the car Clint finally had a chance to actually look at Phil more clearly. He looked better than he had the first time they met, his bruises fading and he’d clearly taken a shower between now and then, but Clint noticed a few new bruises and even though Phil was wearing a jacket he’d also spotted red raised skin on Phil’s wrists from the handcuffs. 

Phil had gotten hurt for Clint, why would he have come back for him? 

“Clint?” 

Clint blinked. Right. The tracker. He nodded. 

“Ok. I’ve got a first aid kit in the back of the car, I’m gonna get that and then we’ll get this out and be on our way.” Clint stayed seated while Phil rummaged in the car behind him. When Phil came back Clint opened his door so he could swing his legs out to the side and turn the back of his neck easier to Phil. 

Phil passed a pill and a bottle of water to Clint and Clint turned around to look at him quizzical, “Those assholes got you good, from what I saw,” his eyes flicked over to the line of stitches on Clint’s temple, “I’m not about to add to that. It’s a non-drowsy painkiller, you’re ok.”

Clint turned back around, put the pill on his tongue and took a sip of water, closing the lid tight and dropping in his lap. 

He barely felt the pull of Phil cutting a line down the skin on his neck, whether that was from a year of scar tissue or because Phil was agonizingly gentle, he didn’t want to guess. Clint heard the clatter of the knife and the sound of a paper towel tearing behind himself. Phil was silent for a bit and Clint picked the water bottle back up to occupy his hands. A few cars passed them along the exit but no one stopped.

“Got it,” Phil muttered, “Tony was right. He said it’d likely be easy to spot.” 

Clint held himself still and Phil continued talking, “Tony is a technopath. He actually grew up out here in New York before moving west after his father died. He’s spent a lot of time studying these networks.” 

The light tug of Phil suturing the cut he’d made on Clint’s neck brought Clint back to paying attention. He almost wished that he had something to write on in response. Someone had taken Maria’s network off, someone would be around to do the same for Clint, surely. He wanted to ask. 

Phil placed a bandage over the back of Clint’s neck, “Alright, you’re set. The tracker is no joke but it’s pretty flimsy,” he held the tracker out in his hand and Clint reached out to take it, “Crush it, toss it, whatever you like. I’ll clean this all up.” 

Clint turned the little tracker over in his hand a few times and stepped out of the car. He reared his arm back and chucked the tracker as far into the trees off the highway as he could. 

He got back in the car and looked ahead. Phil closed the trunk of the car and got back into the driver's seat, “Alright, let’s go.”

\--

_Clint kept his breathing neutral and tried to organize his thoughts._

_The network was still on, Clint could feel each change in the wiring as the doctor worked. But he could hear, only the doctor, but he could hear. He tried to reach out, to see if he could hear the guards the same but he was met with silence._

_The doctor’s inner thoughts weren’t that much different than what he said, turns out._

_He’d been talking about Clint, how pliant he was, how well behaved. The guards would scoff but let it be. The doctor let his hands wander, touching Clint far beyond what was necessary to work on the network. Rubbing his shoulders and his back, letting his hands stray along Clint’s side and legs when he walked past him to sit down._

_Clint had wondered, honestly wondered, if the doctor was just pushing boundaries. Testing the waters to see if Pierce would do anything, if he’d even notice._

__One day he’ll be all mine.

_He didn’t know that Clint could hear him._

_If Clint could hear, even if it was just one person’s mind, would that mean he could do anything else? Luckily, Clint was already looking down at his lap. He turned his hands around and wiggled his fingers a little, eyes going wide when he felt the energy around them. Not much, but enough._

_He was handcuffed, strapped to the chair with only the muzzle gone because the doctor couldn’t work with it on. All he needed was for someone to step in front of him and he could push out, strapped down or not._

_The doctor was still talking, one hand working and one hand lingering to feel along Clint’s throat._

_Oh, no one had told him. Or he’d forgotten._

_Either way._

_Clint waited while the doctor slowly worked his way across Clint’s throat, cupping his chin. Clint counted to three and ducked his chin, sinking his teeth into the doctor’s gloved hand._

_The doctor howled and stumbled forward, pulling to get free. The two guards stepped out from their watch by the door. Clint let the energy build up in his hands and waited until all three were as close as they would be._

_Then he let it go._


End file.
